


The Nature of Choice

by Lenny9987



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Other, alludes to events/information from Voyager
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 127,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1962</p><p>When Claire answers the phone in Frank’s study and knocks over a folder of research, she learns the truth about what happened to Jamie and her journey back to him begins but she isn't going back to him alone.</p><p>Originally posted to Tumblr in smaller installments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Possibility Awakens

**Author's Note:**

> How I think things would have/should have gone with Claire discovering the truth about Jamie a little sooner and how it would impact not only her, but Brianna.

The ringing phone startled Claire from sleep. She looked to the clock and saw it was only noon - Frank would still be at the university and Brianna should be at school. The phone was still ringing. She shoved the blankets aside and hastened to the nearest phone in Frank’s study. It could be the hospital with an update on Mr. Henderson’s condition - or Brianna’s school regarding some disciplinary issue or she could be in the nurse’s office, sick.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire exclaimed as she knocked a folder from the cluttered desk to get to the phone before the caller hung up.

“Hello?” she asked into the receiver.

There was a gasp on the other end of the line before it went dead. That had been happening from time to time - again. But Claire was too tired to bother thinking about what Frank might or might not be up to. He had a week-long conference coming up at the end of the month and she was working extra hours at the hospital and trading shifts so that she could take the whole week off - just her and Brianna, though of course, Bree would be in school for some of that time. Still, with all the sacrifices Frank had made to be there for Brianna while Claire was in medical school, she wanted to make the extra effort.

She longed to return to bed but needed to clean up the mess - if she left it, Frank would know she’d been in the study and would ask why and then she’d have to talk about the hang-up and that was not a conversation she was ready to have. 

Luckily, she’d only knocked over _one_  folder so all the photographs, Xeroxed pages, notes, and letters belonged together. Turning the pages over to align them properly, she recognized a letter from Reverend Wakefield and smiled. 

_Roger and I were able to locate the documents you wished. The church would not allow us to remove the register in question from their archives but they did permit us to photograph the page you were interested in - those are included here and I must apologize for the poor quality, the names as you see are visible however. We proved luckier with the prison archives as they were eager to demonstrate their new toys - those pages are also included._

_I must say, this project of yours has really done wonders for Roger. He’s become quite obsessed with tracking this man down and now talks of pursuing history at university. If you don’t mind my asking, would you perhaps agree to correspond with Roger on the subject as he continues weighing his options - he’ll be applying in just a few short months and I think picking your brain will give him - and I hardly need add, me - some peace of mind._

_I’m sure we’ll be in touch if there are any other favors you need - or if Roger manages to find further traces of this Fraser fellow. Just don’t forget to give us a credit in whatever book this is you’re compiling._

_Reggie_

Claire’s blood froze in her veins. She carefully set the page aside and swallowed before picking up and examining the pages more closely. A jotted down local legend about a man who hid in a cave for years after the ‘45 before being imprisoned by the English. It wasn’t definitive but it did sound like something he would do. Records from a place called Ardsmuir with Jms. MacKenzie Fraser and Brock Turac faintly visible. Her breath caught and tears filled her eyes. She sat hard in Frank’s chair as she looked through the rest of the pages. She couldn’t make out what the next pages she held were exactly, the word Helwater stood out along with a familiar looking deed. She turned over the photograph. The Reverend was right; the quality was poor. But she’d recognize her handwriting anywhere. The marriage register she and Jamie had signed along with the contract Ned Gowan had drawn up. 

She traced the letters of Jamie’s signature. After all these years, there he was on paper. 

Wait. She turned to the legend. It was after the Rising, after Culloden. The prison records were from the 1750s too. That couldn’t be right. Could it?

It was too much for Claire to process at one time. The dates - they couldn’t be right. But if they were… there was a nagging possibility trying to claw its way to the front of her mind but her attention was distracted by other facts. 

Frank had been looking for this information - but why? He’d said he didn’t believe her - no, that wasn’t quite right. He had tried to explain that she was confused, traumatized, that her mind had put the facts into this explanation because it was easier for her to ‘process’ than the truth. His insistence had grown more forceful as her own persistence continued until she’d finally dropped the subject altogether. She told herself it didn’t matter whether he believed her or not - none of it would bring Jamie back. She had promised Jamie that she would see their child safe so that was what she focused her energy on - what little of it she had in those early days.

But obviously there had been some part of Frank that _had_ believed her or he wouldn’t be looking for Jamie now. Was it simply curiosity that had him searching for Jamie? Was he trying to get a feel for the man her daughter resembled so closely? Or was there something more to it? What was his plan? What did he mean to do with the information now that he had it?

Anger began to build in Claire as one part of her brain played with numbers while the other side wormed its way along the familiar, frustrating paths of Frank’s reasoning. Glancing at the date on Reverend Wakefield’s letter - it was several months old - it was clear that Frank had been sitting on the information for a while. There was no reason to expect he’d suddenly decide to share what he’d found. 

Suddenly the pieces fit together. The dates in the documents - the latest one was from early 1757 and dealt with Jamie being paroled to a place called Helwater - eleven years after the Rising failed. When she returned through the stones, she’d learned that time in the twentieth century had marked her absence, passing in equal measure to what she spent in the eighteenth century. Presumably, it was doing so now for those she knew who had survived the battle - which apparently included Jamie. Brianna was turning fourteen in just a few weeks. She knew better than anyone that a lot could happen in the three years following that recorded trace Jamie left… but there was a chance. More chance than she had ever thought to hope for. 

Something woke within her, stoking the embers of her anger into flames. 

Frank.

He had lied to her about so much more than she ever suspected. He’d believed her and kept quiet; he’d found Jamie and kept quiet; and he had almost certainly come to the same conclusion regarding the possibility that Jamie might still be alive in the past - that there was a chance she might be able to find him in more than just dusty records. And he was purposely keeping it from her. 

Claire slammed the folder back onto the desktop and began pacing. She would confront him - about the hang-ups, about Jamie. She wouldn’t stand for it. From the moment she made Frank that promise about keeping the truth from Brianna, she knew she’d regret it - she’d again told herself it wouldn’t matter, that keeping the truth about the stone and the truth that Frank wasn’t her father were equally pointless, that all they would do was confuse her. But Brianna had a _right_  to know and if there was a chance she could travel through the stones, if there was a chance Jamie was still alive, _he_  had a right to meet his daughter. 

She took up the folder again and left Frank’s study headed for the kitchen - he always entered the house that way. Arriving in the kitchen, she noticed the clock on the wall. Brianna would arrive home before Frank. She needed to tell Brianna the truth but she needed more time to figure out the right way to do it. There would be no way to have a calm conversation with Frank on the subject so even if Bree went right to her room to do her schoolwork, she’d hear them and investigate. There also wasn’t a lot of time between Frank’s usual arrival and when she needed to leave to return to the hospital for her shift. 

The air went out of her and the familiar ache for Jamie clutched her chest, stronger than it had been in years - time had dulled the sharpness of it but in less than an hour the scar tissue had been cut away, the wound reopened. 

Claire made her way back upstairs to Frank’s study and carefully replaced the folder. She needed more time to process what she now knew but she didn’t want anything tipping him off to whatever she decided to do - her hurt demanded that he feel the full force of everything she felt and an idea was beginning to germinate. It would take some time to arrange but she had the motivation to pull it off. 

She decided to get ready for work early so she could leave as soon as Frank returned home - the less time he had to examine her glass face, the more time she had to construct a sturdier facade behind which she could induce her blossoming plan to grow and bear fruit.


	2. Mother and Daughter on Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire brings Brianna to Scotland

Claire glanced briefly over at Brianna. She was leaning against the car’s open window, the wind playing with her flaming hair as she rested her chin on her arms to take in as much of the passing Scottish countryside as she could. Claire slowed a bit so it wouldn’t go by quite so fast, despite her own desperation to arrive at their destination. 

Once she had made up her mind as far as what she wanted to do, figuring out the steps she needed to accomplish in order to get there had been simpler than she imagined. She had taken advantage of her unusual schedule to make the necessary calls and purchases, to write the instructional letter for Joe (not to be opened for a week), and everything was prepared. During those sparse hours she saw Frank and Brianna, she smiled and encouraged and told her expected stories about the patients and surgeries that were keeping her busy while internally she barely registered what she was saying. 

Frank left for his conference on Friday preferring to travel by train to the Conference in California and to have a day or two to settle and prepare his presentation. Claire picked Brianna up from school, meeting her in the administration office having left instructions with the secretary before marching out with an ignorant Brianna in tow. 

She’d put off that last letter - the one she had left on Frank’s desk after rifling through his drawers to relocate the folder from that fateful day. He called to talk to Brianna and let the two of them know he had reached his destination safely and would be in and out of touch for the duration of the conference - neither Claire nor Brianna were entirely surprised having seen how easily gathered academics managed to disregard clocks when caught up in the rapid discourse of their own kind.

Unable to say what she needed to with Brianna sitting feet away, Claire found it easier to finally write that letter - she couldn’t be interrupted and she couldn’t hold anything back, not when it was the last he would hear from her. 

On Sunday Claire had woken early to pull out the suitcases she’d packed the night before - her anticipation made sleep difficult so she put the time to good use and Brianna woke to find her mother sitting with a cup of tea and Brianna’s passport. 

“Mama?” Brianna asked, sitting up at the unexpected image. “What… Are you wearing _that_  to church?”

“We’re not going to Mass this morning,” Claire had told her. “There won’t be time. Our flight leaves at eleven.”

“Our flight?”

“I’m taking you on a holiday - just the two of us - as an early birthday present for you,” Claire smiled then tilted her head and added, “Or a late birthday present for me.”

“Really? But… what about school?” Brianna hesitated, waiting for a catch but with a familiar excitement building behind her clear blue eyes. 

“I’ve already informed your school you’ll be out this week. Now hurry and dress. I’ve already packed everything you’ll need,” Claire informed her, rising and leaving the passport behind. 

“Where are we going?” She was out of bed and rummaging in her closet in a moment. It didn’t really matter where they were going, what mattered most to her almost-fourteen-year-old mind was the fact of missing school for a week and having a new story to tell her friends when she returned. 

“Scotland,” Claire called from the hallway. 

Making one stop at Joe Abernathy’s to drop off a box of things for safekeeping - Brianna was too wrapped up in her excitement and confusion to pay attention to the size of what Claire was leaving in Joe’s charge - they departed and arrived at their Inverness inn on Monday morning. Brianna was eager to get out and start site seeing immediately but Claire insisted they spend that day resting, promising plenty of adventures and dodging questions about why they hadn’t waited for a time when Daddy could have joined them - and when were they going to have dinner with Daddy’s friend, Reverend Wakefield? They couldn’t visit Inverness without calling on him. 

“Are we close?” Brianna asked, shifting in the seat beside Claire and reaching for the marked map between them. 

“It’s just around this bit of forest here, you’ll see it in a minute,” she assured Brianna. “That hill there.”

“We really had to come all this way for a picnic?” Brianna asked as Claire pulled over and fetched everything from the boot of the car. 

“You need to see the view from the top,” Claire told her, holding out the basket of food and blanket for Brianna to take so she could carry the larger pack. “You can see Inverness from here - though, it’s easier to make it out from the lights at night.”

Brianna frowned at her mother and took the large pack herself - even at almost-fourteen, she was as tall as her mother and had a sturdier build. 

Claire sighed shakily and followed Brianna up the hill towards the stones carrying the basket and blanket. 

It was steeper than she remembered, the stones more foreboding. Claire’s breath caught periodically as her limbs trembled in anticipation. They were so close - everything would be decided in minutes.

“This view had _better_  be worth it,” Brianna exclaimed as they neared the top. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you’d taken the picnic basket and left that pack to me,” Claire reminded her.

“What do you have in here anyway?” Brianna asked, pausing to rest it on the ground. 

They were three-quarters of the way to the top and Claire could feel the thrum in her bones, the vibrations like ripples through time, emanating from that crack in the stone. She swallowed and offered the picnic basket to Brianna in exchange.

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Claire told Brianna. “I’m not even sure we’ll need it yet.”

Brianna shrugged and heaved it back over her shoulder ignoring the basket Claire held out.

Claire swallowed nervously. This was where it got tricky - how to be sure that she had hold of that pack when the moment came. Of course, if it came down to it grabbing hold of Brianna was more important - but she hated the thought that those preparations would come to naught.

Her attention was distracted when she saw Brianna pause and tilt her head, a quizzical expression on her face. Claire quickly caught up as they crested the hill. 

“Is everything all right, Bree?” Claire asked resting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and breaking her reverie.

Brianna blinked and laughed uncomfortably but her gaze traced back to the stone with the crack in it. “Yeah, I’m fine I just… I thought I heard… something.” 

She took a step towards the stone, drawn to it just as Claire felt something pulling her attention towards it. She stayed close, keeping her hand on Brianna’s shoulder, maintaining contact.

“Are those… bees?” Brianna asked. The pack slipped on her shoulder but she hiked it back up rather than putting it down.

“If they are, we’ll have to find somewhere else for our picnic,” Claire warned as they drew closer. 

She didn’t need to give Brianna any further excuse to investigate - the stones were mesmerizing enough on their own. As Brianna’s right hand reached toward the stone, Claire’s hand slid down her daughter’s arm to clutch the girl’s left hand in her own right. She took a deep breath and held it as her left hand and Brianna’s right touched the stone simultaneously. 

The tearing pull towards a familiar point was instantaneous and overwhelming. Claire tried to concentrate on Jamie - reaching for the point of light she knew was him - while also gripping Brianna’s hand tightly - she could not, _would not_  let go of her. The desperate screaming of trapped souls reverberated through her skull until everything went black and she couldn’t tell whether she was still hearing those cries or merely an echo, ringing in her ears. 

As she came back to herself she squeezed her right hand - it was empty.


	3. The Truth Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire tells Brianna the whole truth about who she is, where she's from, and where they are

Claire sat up, her hand gliding over the grass searching for Brianna.

She heard a retching sound and looked to where the noise originated - Brianna was leaning against one of the trees just outside the stone circle. 

Relief washed through Claire. She took a deep breath and quickly began to take stock. Both the basket and the pack had successfully made the journey with them - she hadn’t been sure only ever making the trip with the clothes on her back in the past. She reached into the picnic basket to find the canteen of water and headed for Brianna, holding it out for her to use it to rinse her mouth. Perhaps it had been a good thing Brianna had investigated the stone before they’d had a chance to eat. 

Brianna was still visibly shaking. “What… what the _hell_  was that?”

“Can you walk?” Claire asked, examining her daughter for any noticeable injuries. “We should get away from here. I know somewhere safe.”

“So do I: Inverness. Forget the view and the picnic,” she said pushing off the tree and looking back over her shoulder with trepidation. “I just want to go back to the inn and to bed.”

“We stick together,” Claire admonished. “Stay here while I get the rest of our things.” It would be difficult for her to carry both the basket and the pack but she could manage alone if Bree was too wobbly from the journey through. An uncomfortable ringing persisted in Claire’s head and she could feel the adrenaline still coursing through her veins but she was able to push it aside in her relief that it had worked, in her need to move on to the next step of her plan. 

Brianna stumbled as they made their way down the hill. She stopped suddenly in front of Claire who bumped into her and - with the combined weight she was carrying - nearly toppled them both.

“Where’s the car?” Brianna asked, her voice rising along with her fear. “Where’s the road? Mama?”

“I’ll explain everything Bree, but we need to get somewhere safe first,” she said with a sigh. “It’ll be faster if you carry one of these.”

Brianna took the pack, confusion on her face. With her burden lightened, Claire pushed ahead to lead the way to the - hopefully still abandoned - cabin. 

“You’ll explain? You knew that… that would happen? What’s in here anyway? Did you plan all this? What the hell is going on?” Brianna’s questions became increasingly desperate.

“Language,” Claire said with a harsh maternal edge. “And yes, I had a vague plan. I wanted to be prepared this time.”

“This time? Whatever that was you’ve done it before.”

The cabin was in sight and it was Claire’s turn to stop short. It looked much as it had fifteen years before - a bit more run down and overgrown perhaps - but her heart began to race and her hopes began to rise, despite knowing better. The last two times she’d been to that cabin, Jamie had been inside. It was impossible he would be this time but her stomach lurched with unrealistic hope. She pushed at the door but it stuck on the hinges - no one had been there in some time. Still, when she’d forced the door open she looked to the empty settle out of habit. 

“Ugh, this place is filthy,” Brianna complained behind her, setting the pack on the floor by the door. “Now… Answers. What is this place and what happened on that hill? Where are we?”

“We’re still in Scotland,” Claire assured Brianna, setting the picnic basket on the settle and moving to the pack. It was unlikely anyone would come upon them where they were but she’d feel better when they were more appropriately attired. “But - if all went according to plan - we’re in the eighteenth century. 1760 to be precise.”

Brianna watched her with a combination of skepticism and concern. Claire opened the pack and pulled out her shift. She half-expected the whiff of stale sweat or lye that used to tickle her nose when she pulled the fabric over her head but this time it smelled of laundry detergent. Her stays had survived the years as well, packed away carefully where Frank didn’t have to see or think about them. Her skirt and bodice had survived as well. The Fraser tartan arisaid was in the box she’d left with Joe - as much as she’d wanted to bring it, tartan had been outlawed for years in their new present.

“What are those?” Brianna was eyeing the clothes with a pleading look in her eyes, willing Claire to tell her they were some kind of joke. “Is that…”

Claire placed Brianna’s set of clothes on the settle next to the picnic basket. “Yes and no. I made some additional alterations. It needed some reinforcement in a few places and extra support. You’ll be grateful for the extra warmth later - it wasn’t really necessary when it was just for your presentation. The fabrics might stand out a bit at first but a few days on the road will obscure the pattern.”

Brianna picked up the costume she’d worn for her presentation on Martha Washington at school during her spring term several months before. “Is this some weird surprise for Dad? Is he going to meet us here for some… re-enactment of something?”

A flash of anger followed rapidly by amusement shot through Claire. A surprise for Frank - well, yes. It would be that. Also a surprise for Jamie, her real father. She supposed that was the place to start - the most difficult part.

“Frank won’t be joining us here because he _can’t_. I told you, we’re in 1760. Frank has been lying… _I’ve_  been lying to you about so much - who you are, where and when you come from. It wasn’t supposed to matter… but Frank lied to me too and when I learned the truth…” She sighed. It wasn’t coming out right. She’d tried to script what she needed to say but hadn’t been able to settle on anything she could practice. “Long ago, your father brought me to this hill and left me with a choice. Frank… Frank took that choice away from us when he lied to me about what he knew.” The confusion on Brianna’s face was growing rather than clearing. “You deserve to know the truth - the whole truth. I promised Frank I wouldn’t tell you about your father but that was when I thought Jamie was dead.” Brianna blanched as the words and their meaning sank in.

“What… Dad… But Dad…”

“Frank _isn’t_  your father, Bree.” Claire clutched her clothes to her chest. They were the same she’d warn the last time she was with Jamie and she drew strength from that echo of his proximity. “Your father’s name is Jamie - James - Fraser. And we’ve come here to find him again.”

Brianna was already shaking her head in denial.

“I don’t know why but you’re lying. Dad is… my father. You… you would never… you _could_  never… Why? Why are you saying this?”

Claire took a deep breath and set the clothes aside for a moment, reaching out to Brianna instead. But Brianna pulled away. 

“I suppose I deserve that. But sweetheart, I’m telling you the truth. Frank has been… a wonderful father to you - but he _didn’t_  father you biologically. When we were married - _after_  the war ended - we came to Scotland on holiday before he was supposed to start at Oxford. It… it was an accident. Frank took me to the stones first - we watched a druid ritual for Beltane. I went back to look at flowers there, at the base of the stone and…” She shrugged. “You can imagine now what happened - what that was like. I was confused and disoriented and… well, I met Jamie that day and - over the weeks when I was trying to find my way back to return to Frank - life happened. Circumstances were… complicated. I married Jamie but still meant to go back and then… I fell in love with him. I told him the truth and he brought me back here and left me to choose for myself. I chose Jamie.”

Brianna still looked skeptical but at the mention of the stones she’d gone pale again and clutched a hand to her queasy stomach. Was it enough evidence to convince her of the truth of the rest of it?

“You fell in love with someone else and just left Dad to what? Wonder where you’d gone?”

“I’ve lived with the guilt from that choice for almost twenty years now. I knew how worried he must have been and what that probably did to him. But…” Claire paused shaking her head, unsure just _how_  to convey the decision she’d made to an emotional teenager. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave Jamie. I could live with the guilt of leaving Frank like that but I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d left Jamie then.”

“Clearly something changed your mind,” Brianna snapped viciously. 

“Circumstances… changed,” Claire responded quietly, a catch rising in her throat. “The Rising came - we tried to stop it but failed. When Culloden…” She had to stop, remembering the confusion she’d felt the day Jamie led her away from the gathering armies, the moment of recognition when she saw the stones in the distance, and the pain that immediately set in when she realized what he meant for her to do. “He knew - _believed_  - he was going to die that day. I wanted to stay with him no matter what but he… he knew about _you_. He knew I was pregnant with you and we’d wanted you so badly for so long… It was the only way to protect you.”

The raw emotion in Claire’s narration seemed to convince Brianna of something though it was clear from the expression on her face that she wasn’t finished being angry with her mother. 

“Dad knows - obviously, he must know,” she muttered, beginning to tap her fingers nervously on her crossed arms. 

“I told him everything,” Claire confessed. “I told him he should leave me then and there but he wouldn’t. He didn’t believe me but he wouldn’t leave me given the state I was in.”

“Pregnant and alone?” she spat.

“Pregnant and grieving,” Claire corrected. “It was… horrible. I didn’t lose  _just_ your father that day, I lost everyone and everything that mattered to me. And I had _no one_  I could talk to about it - haven’t for fifteen years.” Claire’s voice was rising as the frustrations of self-imposed silence burst forth. “You know why people have funerals? They honor the dead, sure, but they also bring those left behind together when they need each other most. _I didn’t get that_. The people I _could have_ mourned with were all the people I’d lost. I couldn’t _talk_ about Jamie - or Jenny or Ian or Murtagh or Fergus - to anyone unless I wanted them to think I was crazy.”

She sat down with a huff on the settle beside the clothes she’d brought, picking up her stays again and fingering the musty fabric that encapsulated them.

“I had no one but you.”

Brianna’s expression softened a bit but she kept her body tense and looming. 

“When I first felt you move… it was like Jamie had nudged me to try to get me to wake up. Every kick you gave me, pushed me a little bit closer to being myself again. And when you were born and I held you… It still hurt but not as much as it had. You made it bearable. And you… you’re like him in so many ways. _You’ve_  kept him alive for me and have made all this worth it.”

“You said Dad lied to you,” Brianna conceded. “What do you mean?”

“He said he didn’t believe me - about the stones and Jamie. He said it was my mind coping with the trauma of whatever I’d _actually_ been through. But… on some level he must have believed me because he looked for Jamie - and found him. But he never said a word. I found the papers on his desk - records, local legends following the Rising, proof that Jamie not only existed as I’d told him but that he’d somehow survived Culloden.” The bones of her stays were poking into the palm of her hand as Claire suddenly became aware of just how tightly she gripped them.

She rose from the settle and began going through the clothes once more with more purpose. “Time moves parallel - I found that out when I returned before. If the documents he had were really Jamie then he’s still alive.”

“Wait a minute,” Brianna interrupted, growing agitated once more. “ _If_? You dragged me away from my life at home for an _if_? What if he isn’t alive, huh? What if those sources were wrong?”

It was like a blow to the stomach though the thought had been hiding in the corners of her mind and peeking out at her as well.

“I don’t know what I will do but you will have the choice of returning regardless of what we find,” she promised. 

“Choice? Doesn’t feel like I’ve had _any_ choice in the matter. If you wanted to give me a choice, you’d have let me know what was going on before… before… whatever that was that happened up there,” Brianna yelled, gesturing in the direction of the stones.

“You don’t understand anything about choice,” Claire said quietly, shaking her head and beginning to strip off her clothes, turning her back to Brianna knowing how modest her daughter could be. “You _deserve_ to meet your real father. You _deserve_ to meet the rest of your family.”

“What if I don’t want to? I was happy back home, _not_ knowing them. You said this Jamie gave you a choice when he brought you here before and that Dad somehow took it away from you… What about how _you’ve_ taken away _my_ choice in the matter?”

Claire had gotten into the shift and had her stays laced up, the heavy wool skirt was already over her head. Settling it into place, she turned to face Brianna as she tied the skirt behind her back with practiced fingers.

“You may not want to meet him right now but it goes both ways. I’ve told you that you deserve to meet your real father - well _he_ deserves to meet you as well. He gave up _everything_ for you and he doesn’t even know that we survived - that you’re you.” She ignored the eyebrow Brianna raised at that and pressed on. “What’s more, the rest of his family - _your_ family - deserve to meet you too. Your father has a sister. And she’s married with… well, they had three children when I left and didn’t look to be stopping anytime soon, so you have cousins as well.”

She could see Brianna was getting overwhelmed and calmed her tone, approaching her daughter with her arms open. This time Brianna let her mother embrace her. “I know it’s a lot and I’m doing a poor job of explaining it right now. But I promise you this - _if_ after meeting everyone, including your father, and spending some time with them… if you still want to go home - back to Frank - I’ll bring you here to see you off again myself.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Brianna clung to her position but now her fear was the most prominent emotion in her voice.

“Do you really want to go through those stones again right now?” Claire asked, calling her bluff. “It only gets worse each time so you need to _know_ it’s what you want to do.” She pulled back from Brianna and lifted her daughter’s chin so she was looking her in the eye. “Going back through means you have to give something up - either your life there, or your life here. To truly _choose_ , you have to know what you have waiting for you on _both_ sides of those stones. I thought I was happy with Frank - I truly loved him when I married him; I _chose_ him. But what I found when I came through those stones and met your father… It was more than I ever thought possible.” She let go of Brianna’s chin and turned to retrieve and don the bodice of her dress. “You might find there’s more for you here than you think.”

“You’ll bring me back if I ask you to?” Brianna clarified. 

“I promise,” Claire agreed. “Now, let me help you dress and then we’ll start walking. Hopefully we’ll find someone we can purchase a horse from along the way. I’ll tell you everything again as we go and do a better job of it, I’m sure - it’ll be several days on the road and nights in the heather but there should be enough provisions in the picnic I packed if we ration our food carefully. On the way, you can ask me anything and I’ll do my best to help you understand.”

Brianna’s modified costume was a little short but functional for the time being. She fidgeted with the tightness through her shoulders, testing out her restricted range of motion and frowning. Claire found a loose floorboard in the cabin and stashed their twentieth century clothes beneath it before moving to the rest of what she’d managed to bring through the stones to take stock - food, an extra blanket, an overstuffed first-aid kit that she surreptitiously stowed in a deep pocket on the underside of her skirt, and a few other mementos.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Brianna asked, peering past Claire’s shoulder. 

Claire unfolded a modern map for Brianna to see and pointed. “We’re here… and we need to get there.”

“Doesn’t look too far,” Brianna remarked - the faster they got there, the faster she could get this over with and get her mother to bring her back so she could go home again. 

Claire chuckled. “Well, we don’t have a car so I’m afraid it’ll feel quite long.”

“You still haven’t told me _where_ we’re going.”

“To Lallybroch,” Claire told her with a smile.


	4. Two Ians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Brianna arrive at Lallybroch

It didn’t take as long to reach Inverness as Claire had expected it would - but it took much longer than Brianna had expected. As they walked, Claire talked giving her daughter as many details as she could think of - well, not every detail. 

Brianna was familiar with a few of the people, places, and events Claire mentioned from her little history lessons with Frank. She argued a few times with Claire, contradicting her version with verbatim recitations of what she’d heard from Frank. The first time Claire let her talk before gently correcting the narrative she had taken as gospel for so long. 

By the third time, Claire had simply stopped walking leaving Brianna to talk until she realized she was talking to herself and alone on the road. She didn’t interrupt or contradict Claire after that. 

They timed their arrival at Inverness for early in the morning. Claire was able to purchase a horse and more provisions while Brianna stared at everything. If she had any lingering doubts about where and when they were, the streets of Inverness put them to rest. She was too stunned by the reality of what was around her to do more than stare wide-eyed at her mother as Claire pulled out coins Brianna recognized from Frank’s extensive collection. 

She didn’t say anything but Claire could sense the indignation and turned around on the horse when they were on the road again just a few hours after their arrival - if they made good time they’d be a safe enough distance from anyone who might’ve noticed and recognized them as two women traveling alone. Though it took almost three days to get from Craigh Na Dun to Inverness on foot, they’d likely reach Lallybroch in less time with the help of the horse. 

They rode in silence for the rest of the day as Brianna processed the experience. It threatened to continue until they reached Lallybroch which - if they were following the map correctly - would be later that day. 

Claire refused to let that be the case so she took the first step.

“I only took the ones that we could use,” Claire explained to Brianna. “The coins. There are still plenty left for him in his collection. I didn’t sell the others to buy the plane tickets or anything. Just those that would be practical to _use_. Besides, I’m sure he’ll be able to replace them easily. They’re not uncommon coins - he invested in those ones because they’re from his period of expertise but he has other, rarer ones that are worth far more.”

“Why didn’t you tell him about how things really were - are?” Brianna asked, ignoring Claire’s excuses. 

Claire was vaguely relieved - she had taken the coins from necessity but did feel guilty about it. She’d included a check for the cost of replacing them in the letter she’d left for Frank but it still ate at her. 

“I already told you,” she said. “He didn’t believe me. Or he said he didn’t. And as a scholar… he couldn’t have relied on my accounts anyway. He would have needed period sources to support his claims and I’m afraid no one would have believed - let alone accepted - the story of how I came by the information.”

“Right,” Brianna said with a distracted nod. “Still… He would’ve at least known what to look for.”

Claire stopped the horse and did what she could to turn and face her daughter. 

“Frank will be all right,” she promised Brianna though she couldn’t know for sure. The guilt creeped up again. Brianna’s anger at her for how they’d left things - how _she’d_  left things - with Frank wasn’t entirely unjustified. “Last time… Last time he didn’t know what had happened. There was no way for me to… to put his mind at ease. It took time, but he was able to move on, to start putting his life back together. It’ll be easier for him this time - at least… it should be. He’ll miss you, of course, but he’ll know where you are. He’ll know that you’re not alone.”

Brianna nodded but the dazed look remained. Claire chucked her under the chin to get her to focus her gaze.

“It won’t go away. Missing him. Not entirely.”

“You missed him? Even when you were with… with my father?”

“Yes,” Claire admitted. “I did.”

“And do you miss him now?”

Claire swallowed. “The man I missed wasn’t there when I returned. He… changed. _I_ changed. I still miss the Frank I left behind when I accidentally fell through those stones the first time. But… I don’t miss the Frank who left for his conference last week. Not nearly as much as I miss your father.”

“Aren’t you worried that the same thing will happen with him?”

“I’m terrified,” she confessed. She turned back around and gave the horse a little kick, pulling the reins to get him to stop grazing at the plants along the path. “Do you see that ridge there?”

“Yes,” Brianna answered, straining in the saddle to see.

“Lallybroch - well, Broch Tuarach - is on the other side. We’ll be there before dark.”

Brianna sat straighter behind her mother, her grip tighter as they crested the hill and paused to overlook the estate. She could just make out the shape of the main house and the lilting tower for which the place was named. An unexpected thrill of anticipation ran up her spine. 

“Let’s go announce ourselves, shall we?” Claire suggested, praying that when they descended Jamie would be there and the search would be over.

They had to walk the horse down the rough terrain that was the final gradual descent to Lallybroch.

“So what does Broch Tuarach translate to exactly?” Brianna asked trying to copy Claire’s awkward pronunciation.

“North Facing Tower,” she explained, nodding to the round structure looming closer than before. 

Brianna peered at it and nodded. “The door faces north,” she observed. 

Claire had to stop walking because the laughter gripping her sides wouldn’t allow her to continue forward.

“What? Doesn’t it?” Brianna asked, her braided hair whipping around as she looked to double-check her observations of the lilting building in conjunction with the sun overhead.

“You are _definitely_  a Fraser,” Claire told her when she was able to speak again. 

Something moved on the path ahead of them that caught their attention. 

“Hello?” Claire called, handing the horse’s reins to Brianna and stepping forward. 

A dark headed boy peeked out at her from among the scrubby brush at the roadside. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “And who might you be?” She bent to get a better look at him.

“Ye’re the strangers here,” the boy observed. “Why not tell me who _you_  are and then I’ll tell ye my name.” 

The stubborn defiance with which the boy set his mouth was all too familiar to Claire. She straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Murray, would it?”

The boy’s eyes went wide and he scrambled out of the bush. He looked to be about six or seven years old and of a scrappy build. He was covered in bruises, scrapes, and dirt but there was a healthy ruddiness beneath it all that Claire found reassuring. 

“Do ye know my Mam and Da?” he asked. “Is it them ye’ve come te see?”

“If your mother and father are called Jenny and Ian Murray, then yes I know them,” Claire explained. “But they’re not exactly who I’m looking for. I’m hoping they’ll help me.”

Brianna led the horse a few steps closer and the boy’s attention shifted to her. 

“Who’s she?”

“That would be my daughter and I believe, your cousin.” 

“Cousin?” The boy perked up and his examination of Brianna grew more intense. 

“What’s your name?” Claire asked, her voice gentle as she urged him to confirm her suspicions. 

“Ian Murray,” he said. “And will ye tell me yer name now?”

“I’m your Auntie Claire and that is your cousin, Brianna.”

“Uncle Jamie’s wife? But Mam said ye were dead,” the boy informed her. His confusion blossomed into excitement. “Are ye a fairy then? Like they say?”

“Like who says?”

“Some of the lasses hereabouts. Some say the fairies took ye.”

“Only some?”

“Others said… others say ye were a… witch.” He whispered the last word and looked about to see no one else heard him.

“Well, I’m neither of those,” Claire assured him. 

“Then what are ye?”

“I’m hungry and tired and looking for your Uncle Jamie.”

Disappointment washed over the boy’s face. “He’s not here but Mam will be happy to see ye… I think.”

“Do you know where he is? Is it nearby?” Disappointment was making its way into Claire’s tired limbs as well. She’d known it was a long shot that finding him would be this easy, but as the familiar buildings of Lallybroch drew closer the sense of home that she had had there with Jamie worked against her efforts to keep her hopes at a reasonable level. He belonged there - _they_  belonged there. 

“I ken Mam has letters from him now and then,” little Ian said frankly. “He sends them to her from Hell. He went there straight from prison.”

“What?” Brianna asked, speaking up for the first time. “What’s that supposed to mean? Mama?”

“Ian!” a deep and frustrated voice called and the young boy spun on his heel and took off along the path ahead of them.

“Da!” he called in response. “Da! Ye’ll never guess who’s come! Auntie Claire! Auntie Claire is looking for Uncle Jamie!” 

Claire walked along and soon saw the familiar shape of Ian Murray leaning on his walking stick, looking like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Claire?” 

“Ian!” Claire cried, hurrying forward to embrace her brother-in-law. He was stunned and it took him a moment to return her hug.

“What… How… I mean,” he stammered when she pulled back. “Jamie said… he said ye were… gone. We assumed he meant…”

“I can guess what you thought,” Claire said. “It was… By the time Culloden came about… it was a bit obvious how things would end. Jamie… He knew there was little chance he would survive the battle and that the English wouldn’t let him live long after if he did - not with his name on Charles’ oath.” 

She sighed as the fury and fear that arrived with the letter that shattered their lives reawakened within her. She shook her head as she forced it down again - that was something that couldn’t be changed but as she heard Brianna coming up with the horse behind her she was reminded of why she’d gone back through the stones in the first place, why she’d returned through them now. 

“We learnt I was with child just a short time before… Jamie knew it was too dangerous for me to stay in Scotland - if the English learnt who I was… He - _we_  - decided it would be safer if I went. The ports were closing but with my accent, I had no trouble getting through.”

“Ye sailed for France?” Ian guessed.

Claire shook her head. “Anyone heading for France would have been suspect and likely stopped. I fled to the colonies. Brianna here was born in Boston.”

“Brianna?” Ian’s attention turned to the girl when Claire motioned to her. Something in him lit up as he took the sight of her in.

She wasn’t sure what to make of the situation - all she knew of Ian was what Claire had told her during their journey. But she wasn’t one to cower - it did help having the horse and his reins to hold tight to. The modified Martha Washington costume hadn’t worn as well on the road as Claire’s clothing - though her hem was cleaner thanks in part to the fact that it was a few inches too short - yet when Brianna stood to her full height and straightened her shoulders, she was as commanding as her father. 

“Aye, lass,” Ian said, his head bobbing with approval. “Anyone has met yer da would ken ye for his daughter from fifty paces.”

Brianna looked a bit startled at the pronouncement, glancing to Claire whose expression screamed, ‘I told you so.’ 

“Yer mam must ha’ told ye before, but I’m yer Uncle Ian,” he introduced himself with a bow of the head. “And this wee - Ian!” he hollered, glancing around for the lad but he’d quietly disappeared during the reunion.

“I suspect he went to share the news of our return with Jenny,” Claire mused aloud. 

Ian sighed and rolled his eyes. “She’ll be glad to see ye again, Claire, and beside herself when she sees this lassie lookin’ like - well like Ellen, in fact. The portrait in the hall upstairs-”

“By the landing,” Claire finished. “Is it still there? I know the English raided the Highlands following Culloden.”

“Aye, they left their mark on Lallybroch,” Ian confirmed, “but ye can live with scars.” Ian paused briefly as they continued toward the yard of the main house. “Jamie hasna seen the lass, then?” Ian inquired of Claire.

“No, I haven’t met my father,” Brianna spoke up for herself. As soon as Ian glanced back at her again, she felt the color rising in her cheeks but Ian looked apologetic rather than offended. 

“His heid will swell wi’ pride the minute he sets eyes on ye,” Ian assured her. He turned back to Claire, “But he isna at Lallybroch. He hasna been here for some years now.”

“So little Ian said a few minutes ago.” Claire’s tone was resigned but not defeated. They were approaching delicate territory as far as the story she’d told - she knew she was lacking details in certain areas that would help smooth out her story. 

“How did ye ken he survived?” Ian asked, the shock and joy of her arrival and seeing Brianna fading enough for the incoherent questions of moments earlier to solidify. “Seems a long way for word of him te find ye.”

“The other men at Ardsmuir,” Brianna spoke up again. “They were transported but most of them knew he’d been paroled.”

Claire looked at her daughter and saw a flicker of amusement in Brianna’s eyes at what must be her own startled expression. The details of what she’d found in Frank’s research were a fraction of the information she’d given Brianna in the last few days and yet she had the explanation for how they came to be at Lallybroch ready. Perhaps Brianna hadn’t been as overwhelmed by the situation as she’d presumed.

“One of his men found ye?”

“Yes,” Claire said, taking up Brianna’s lead. “They were indentured and one of them found his way north somehow. It was chance, of course, that we should have met him at all.”

“Or fate,” Brianna chimed in. 

“I don’t really remember _how_ Jamie came up in the conversation but it didn’t take long to realize it was _Jamie_ and he said that he’d been paroled - that Jamie was likely in England. As soon as I knew he was _alive…_ I had to come back and see if I could find him - if _we_  could find him,” Claire explained. 

The doors of Lallybroch were in sight and Claire recognized Jenny as she stood rooted in the doorway with young Ian pulling her hand to drag her to where Claire and Brianna had appeared with Ian. 

“I dinna ken how or when ye’ll see Jamie again, Claire,” Ian said, slowing his gait and lowering his voice. “But ye’ll have a home here for as long as it takes and ye’ve all tha’s in our power to give ye. Welcome home.”


	5. Becoming Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna is introduced to Lallybroch

Brianna kept staring at her mother. It was like she was looking at a different person and it wasn’t just the clothes, though the way she moved in them _did_  have something to do with it. 

Brianna kept looking around as it all became real. Not the time travel bit - she had accepted that somewhere along the unpaved road to Inverness. It was Lallybroch that was becoming real to her. The family her mother had spoken about sounded… but here they were - Jenny, a good six inches or more shorter than her, had reached out to gently touch her cheek and fidget with a lock of her hair before pulling her in for a warm hug.

And there were so _many_  of them. The ones her mother had mentioned, her older cousins - Jamie, Maggie, and Kitty. And then there were the younger ones - Michael and Janet (twins) and the younger Ian they’d already met. He kept watching her mother, waiting for her to do something perhaps. Then there was another man who appeared and looked about to faint when he saw her mother.

“Milady!” he exclaimed, rushing over to wrap her up in a hug. 

Claire didn’t appear to know the young man at first but after looking into his face for a moment, recognition dawned and both her hands went to his cheeks. 

“Fergus? Oh my… Look at you!” 

He stood back and held his arms out for her inspection - a hook in place of his left hand causing Claire to cry out and begin a more thorough and medically minded investigation of the appendage. 

“Ye’ll be hungry and tired I expect,” Jenny announced in an effort to bring the reunion into the main hall of Lallybroch while her “young” Jamie took care of their horse and Michael carried in their handful of belongings. “I’ll let Mrs. Crook know there’ll be two more at supper then I’ll find ye a room for tonight - we’ll find more suitable arrangements in the morning.”

Claire wasn’t the only one keeping a watchful eye on Brianna as Jenny bustled about excitedly. As Brianna paused in the hall, gaping at the size of it - the fire in the grate, the marks above the lintel, the paintings on the walls - Ian came up behind her quietly.

“Those marks,” he said, pointing to a number of gouges in the wood. “English swords made those. As though they were keeping a tally of the times they’d raided our stores. But they never found the priest’s hole so we were always able to keep a bit by.”

Brianna nodded but didn’t know what to say. It was the kind of detail her father - no, he wasn’t her father anymore, he was Frank. It was the kind of detail _Frank_  would find fascinating. She reached out to touch the gouges expecting splinters but most had been worn smooth at the edges. 

“Come,” Ian gently urged her further into the house, his wooden leg thumping against the floor. He held a door open for her as she slipped inside. Book shelves lined the wall behind a large carved desk and chair. Ledgers were open on the desk top but Ian shuffled around and closed them. 

“This was Jamie’s study,” Ian explained. “I use it now while he’s away but these,” he waved a hand at the books, “are all his. Ye’re more than welcome to them if ye’re interested. Yer mother’s an educated woman so I’m guessing ye’ll ken a thing or two yerself - though if ye’re like Jamie was, ye might put up a fight o’er learning yer lessons. Lord knows yer cousins do but that’s just the Fraser in ye peeking through.”

Brianna reached up and took a few down gently, half-expecting them to fall apart - she had helped her - _Frank_  - with research and knew how delicate eighteenth century books could be. Except of course that those books had been two hundred years old when she handled them rather than a few decades at most. She couldn’t help shaking her head as she looked through the titles. _Pamela_ , _Robinson Crusoe_ , _Gulliver’s Travels_. There were also books in languages she didn’t know or of which she only possessed the rudiments - Greek, Latin, French, even Spanish. 

“They’re all his?” she asked in amazement.

“Aye. Yer da has a knack for languages. He can talk himself out of trouble just about anywhere.” He chuckled. “Of course, it’s usually only necessary because he talked himself _into_  trouble in the first place.”

Brianna smiled in amusement, her fingers lingering on the embossed cover of one of the books she took down.

“Hold onto that one then,” Ian advised. “Jenny’ll have a room ready for ye now. Go take it up and wash afore supper. Ye’ll no be disturbed for now but ye’d best prepare yerself for the Inquisition o’er yer meal.”

Brianna nodded and walked back to the main hall before making note of the book she had selected: _Gulliver’s Travels_. 

Claire and Jenny were standing by the bottom of the stairs catching up when they spotted her and Claire waved her over. 

“I’ve got a room ready for the pair of ye for tonight,” Jenny said, leading the way upstairs. “Ye can have a wash and then supper should be ready.” 

The sun had begun to set and there were deep shadows along the landing and the corridor leaving Brianna feeling a bit lost - the layout of the house was simple enough but it was all still so foreign and overwhelming. She clutched the book to her chest and hastened after her mother and Jenny to a room at the far end where another narrower staircase led up to what must be either the servants’ quarters or a storage area. 

“If ye need anything more for tonight, just say. We’ll work out a more permanent arrangement tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how permanent we’ll need,” Claire cautioned as Brianna slipped past her into the room. “If you know where Jamie is, it shouldn’t take long for us to re-provision and set out again.”

“We’ll talk it over after supper,” Jenny insisted, a note of irritation creeping into her voice. “It willna be so easy as ye think and there’s more te consider than just what ye _want_ to do.”

Brianna stopped listening to take in the room itself. A medium-sized four-poster bed was pushed against the middle of the wall, it’s curtains pulled open when the bedding had been hastily aired out - she had a feeling the bed would prove itself a bit too short for hers and her mother’s tall frames. There was a single window on the far wall and a fire had been lit in the fireplace but the warmth hadn’t obliterated the chill completely, only battled it back into the far corners of the room. There wasn’t much more in the way of furniture - a small table and chair that could serve as a mirror-less vanity, a single painting hung over the mantel (like motel art, Brianna thought, a generic but lovely landscape), and a pitcher and ewer near the window.

Claire closed the door and sighed with frustration. “I’d forgotten how stubborn she can be,” she remarked as she crossed to the pitcher and poured water into the bowl, beginning to scrub the dust and grime of several days from her hands with the practiced technique she used when scrubbing in for surgery.

Brianna had seen it again - something about how her mother was acting, moving. She had seen her mother wash her hands thousands of times in her life, knew the way she would use one hand to sweep the water up past her wrist several times before switching to do the same for the other hand and wrist. Brianna was surprised at the ease with which her mother performed the act in such a small basin and with no running water or proper soap at hand. The way her mother moved about the room - the familiarity and comfort as she’d held her skirts away from the fire in passing, how she’d managed to pour the precise amount of water that she needed from the pitcher. It suddenly became so clear to Brianna that her mother must have done such things countless times before - it was the only way she could be so practiced in her actions. She _belonged_ somehow.

“I should have waited till supper to say something - Ian will be more receptive and he’ll be able to talk to - What do you have there, Bree?” she asked as she spotted the book in Brianna’s arms. She wiped the water from her hands and forearms and set the cloth aside. 

Brianna loosened her grip and held it out for Claire to examine. “Ian said that I could borrow the books from... from the study.” She didn’t know what to call her father - her real father whom she had yet to actually meet. 

Claire opened the book and flipped through the pages before she stopped and lifted something delicately from where it had been pressed under the weight of the tome. Even in its dried state the purple was a vibrant shade. “Scottish primrose,” Claire informed Brianna though there was a note of surprise in her voice.

“It’s not something you picked?” Brianna asked as she took the flattened flower from her mother.

“No. I usually just gathered medicinal herbs that I could put to use with the tenants’ ailments.”

“And... _he_  didn’t give it to you?”

“No, I don’t think he ever gave me flowers like that,” Claire admitted. She closed the book and handed it to Brianna. “Be careful about reading by candlelight. It takes some getting used to. Now come wash up.”

Brianna crossed to set the book and flower on the table for later and turned to see her mother pulling pins from her hair and letting it fluff out around her so she could regather it more securely. Brianna took up the damp cloth, looking down into the murky water. Claire poured a bit more in for her. 

“We’ll get you something more to wear soon. That costume really doesn’t fit you properly anymore,” Claire remarked, lightly touching the straining shoulder seam. “There might be something of your grandmother’s around that will fit you. I’ll go check with Jenny.”

Claire pressed a brief kiss to Brianna’s hair before leaving the room. 

Brianna wiped the grime from so much outdoor travel from her hands and arms before wishing she’d thought to start with her face. Checking the pitcher, she decided there was enough so she carried the bowl to the window and carefully dumped the dirty contents. Once her face was clean she thought to tackle her hair, loosening the plait and running her fingers through her ruddy locks.

“This’ll help ye with that,” Jenny said from the doorway behind her, causing Brianna to jump. 

“Sorry lass,” Jenny apologized. “Didna mean to frighten ye like that.”

“I’m just... tired,” Brianna said quickly.

“And o’erwhelmed, I’d expect. Here,” Jenny crossed to help her, a brush sitting on top of a pile of extra blankets and other items for Brianna and Claire’s temporary use. “Set on the bed there. Ye canna have an easy time of it with no mirror but I’m afraid we dinna have enough for every room in the house.” 

Brianna did as she was bid and sat for Jenny to brush through her hair. Her hands were strong but gentle as Jenny deftly sectioned Brianna’s hair out and began to plait it in a more elaborate style than any Brianna could have managed on her own. 

“What’s he like?” Brianna asked hesitantly. 

“Jamie? Have ye no heard of him from yer mam then?” Jenny was clearly taken aback at the question.

“Well, yes, she has but...” Brianna wasn’t completely sure what she was asking. “I know that I look like him-”

“Aye, that ye do.”

“And I know what Mama’s said about how they met and all that...”

“But she loves him and ye want another perspective?” Jenny suggested.

“Something like that.”

“Well... he can be stubborn as an ox but his heart’s usually in the right place,” Jenny admitted as she tucked the end of Brianna’s braid into place and dropped next to her onto the bed. “I never saw him happier or more prideful than when he first brought yer mam to Lallybroch, nor so sorrowful than when he’d lost her - _both_  of ye, I suppose. Bein’ hunted by the English... he couldna do what he thought he ought - te help here and wi’ the tenants. He did what he could, when he could but it wasna enough to fill the hole Claire left. But I’ve no seen him in... too long. I dinna ken what bein’ in that prison - or bein’ paroled - will ha’ done to change him. But I ken if anyone can bring him back to himself, it’s yer mam... and meeting  _you_.”

Brianna nodded but there were still too many gaps to form a tangible sense of her father, Jamie Fraser. 

“Come,” Jenny said, pushing herself up from the bed. She grabbed a candle from the mantle and used a rush to light it from the hearth. 

Brianna did the same and followed Jenny into the corridor.

“Here,” Jenny stopped at one of the paintings on the wall and held her candle aloft. “It’ll be easier to see in the light tomorrow morning. Tha’s yer da wi’ our older brother, Willie, when they were bairns. Yer grandmother painted it. There’s a portrait she did of herself over by the landing. The two of them took after her and ye do as well. I look like my da’s folk.” 

Brianna examined the round face of a very young Jamie Fraser standing between his older brother’s legs with an enormous dog beside them. It was remarkably like a photo that had sat on Frank’s desk at the university - Brianna with a large Newfoundland. 

“We lost Willie and Mam by the time Jamie was... not much older than Willie is there,” Jenny told her. “He’s had to become many things he wasna meant to be but he doesna complain about it - or not often, anyway.”

She moved down the hall to the portrait of Ellen, Brianna lingering a few moments more as she clung to the tiny thread of similarity she could recognize between herself and her father. Frank had taught her about genealogies a long time ago, tracing his own ancestors back further than her current present - it was still difficult to reconcile Frank’s accounts of Jonathan Randall (including his documented commendations and laundry lists) with the Black Jack Randall her mother had described with such disgust - but in the course of such personal research, Brianna had often wondered where she’d inherited little bits of herself. Those bits that came from her mother were discernible but she’d always assumed that whatever she got from Frank had skipped a generation, that is must have been evident in the grandmother and grandfather who had died before she could meet them. 

Joining Jenny before the portrait of Ellen MacKenzie Fraser, Brianna realized that she had been right about inheriting a lot of herself from her father’s family - she’d simply been wrong about who her father was. 

“She painted that herself?”

“Aye. She had a knack for capturing likenesses. When I was a lass, she tried te teach me a bit of drawing but I never could make it come out quite right,” Jenny lamented. “I dinna ken how she managed to find the time to paint as much as she did - nor how she was able to get any of us te sit still long enough for it.”

“A sketch doesn’t take long,” Brianna said, finding the familiar lines that made the shape of her grandmother’s face beneath the shading and coloring. “And you don’t necessarily need a model to capture the rest though when you’re figuring out the lighting it can certainly help.”

Jenny blinked at her before breaking into a grin. “Ye’ve got her knack for painting as well, then?”

Brianna flushed but it was dark enough in the corridor with only the candlelight to conceal the worst of it. “I enjoy drawing,” she admitted.

“We’ll have to go through more of her old things than just her clothes. But there’ll be time enough for that when ye’ve settled in. Supper will be ready by now. We should go on down.”


	6. Regrouping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire wants to go after Jamie immediately but Jenny and Ian have a few concerns.

"How long has it been since he was paroled?" Claire asked.

"Four... five years now," Jenny said. "Dinna ken when it was exactly. We didna have word until after he'd settled into his place and found a way to get a letter out."

"It's a blessing he wasna transported wi' the others," Ian declared quietly, raising his glass of whiskey and sipping deeply.

"And it's called Helwater?" Claire repeated.

"Aye," Ian confirmed. "It's an estate in the Lake District."

"So he's in England," Brianna spoke up tentatively.

"Aye, but he's paroled. He'll no be able to leave nor have visitors without permission. And it's my understanding that he doesna use his given name there either," Jenny explained.

"I'm sure once we get there I can persuade whomever he's paroled to to let me see him," Claire said dismissively.

"I dinna think it will be so easy," Ian cautioned. "Nor do I think it's what Jamie would want ye to do."

"I helped break him out of Wentworth Prison," Claire reminded them. "I think I should be able to find a way to see my husband having managed that."

"Oh, well, if ye're no goin' to listen to us," Jenny shrugged with a roll of her eyes.

"You've no idea how far we've already come," Claire informed her sister-in-law with an emotional note of warning in her voice. "I'm not going to give up now when he's so close."

"We're no telling ye that ye should give up," Ian said gently. "Only that Jamie wouldna want ye taking unnecessary risks on his behalf. He'd no thank us if we let ye come te harm. It's no safe for ye to travel so far wi'out someone to accompany ye."

Claire bit her tongue through she was sorely tempted to reiterate how far they'd already traveled without a man's assistance, especially having lied to a degree about how far that was - so much further and yet they hadn't come so very far alone on the roads; only from Craigh na Dun which wasn't as far as it would be to reach Helwater (if Helwater was even on the modern map she carried hidden in their belongings).

And she hadn't been alone when she'd sought and rescued Jamie from Wentworth Prison all those years before. Murtagh had been with her and then at least half a dozen other men from the MacKenzie Clan orchestrated and executed Jamie's actual extraction. A wave of realization washed over her. Rupert had been one of the men to procure the cattle involved and she'd held his hand as he died a few weeks before Culloden. How many of the others who had been present that first time were gone now? She looked to Ian.

"Murtagh?"

Ian blinked and looked down at the tabletop before shaking his head gently. 

"Culloden," Jenny verified. "Jamie was with him when he went." 

Claire swallowed hard. It was useless to ask after the others whose names and faces began flashing before her, most of whom Jenny and Ian had never met. They'd confirmed the men of Lallybroch had arrived home safe but beyond that only Jamie had been on the field that day and even his account would likely be incomplete. 

"I will accompany milady," Fergus volunteered and for a moment Claire heard him again as the eager-to-please ten-year-old he'd been when Jamie had entrusted him with the Deed of Sasine. "I will protect you for milord."

"There's more of concern than just the road to Helwater," Jenny interrupted, "even if we could spare ye right away."

"Jamie might no be using his real name among the other servants, but there's plenty who ken who he is. And if they ken who  _he_ is, they might remember who  _you_ are as well," Ian pointed out.

"The Stuart Witch," Claire said with a sigh.

"Jamie's had his trial - been convicted of treason and spent time in prison. You haven't. But if ye show up looking for Red Jamie and demanding to see him as his wife..."

"So what plan do you propose?" Claire inquired with a great deal of restraint. She knew she was being difficult and told herself she had known it wouldn't be easy but being back at Lallybroch she half expected to see Jamie come around each corner she encountered. It was wreaking havoc on her ability to think clearly.

"We can send a message to Jamie," Ian suggested. "It will take some time and he doesna like the risk we take in doing so should it fall into the wrong hands. But he may know something we don't."

"There may be someone ye can appeal to who can intercede with the man he must report to," Jenny picked up from her husband. "Someone who might respond kindly to yer 'persuasion.'"

"But it will take weeks to get word back from Jamie," Claire objected. She glanced over at Brianna who was mostly just sitting back and watching. Jenny and Ian's children had drifted off on their own after supper, to chores or their own devices, though Jenny had been adamant about seeing young Ian safely into bed before they let their talk drift to such matters. Every so often Claire noticed Brianna glance up at something in the direction of the stairs leading her to believe the boy had escaped his bed in favor of watching the more interesting affair unfolding downstairs. 

"And in those weeks we can take some time to devise a safer plan. If ye are to travel to Helwater wi' Fergus at some point, ye'll be needing proper provisions for the journey and some of those willna be close to hand o'er night," Ian repeated. "Ye've had a long journey already. Ye should take some time to rest and recover before ye set out again. If no for you, take the time for yer lass."

Claire looked to Brianna who straightened when she realized she was the subject of everyone's scrutiny. She looked exhausted and there was an underlying strain that made Claire's chest tighten. 

"Alright," she agreed. "We'll take a few days to think everything over before discussing it again and settling on a plan. I don't know that telling Jamie I'm on my way would be a good idea either."

"Aye. It might put him in a mind to do something reckless," Jenny agreed.

* * *

 Brianna was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Claire watched her for a few minutes before slipping over to the window and looking out onto the moonlit fields. 

She was so close - perhaps that what was making it so hard for her. After almost fifteen years of hopelessness she was miles from Jamie - it might be hundreds but given how far she'd already come... 

Jenny and Ian's concerns were valid - she knew that. She tried to grasp the rationality that had kept her from flying off the handle at Frank when she first found the materials he'd collected on Jamie. She had been able to take a step back then and work out a plan that had worked. She'd kept Frank and Brianna in the dark long enough to get herself and her daughter through the stones. They'd made it to Lallybroch. She'd known the likelihood of finding Jamie right away was slim.

But she knew where he was now. It was supposed to be easier after she'd tracked him down. 

She suspected that part of why she felt the need to keep moving was so that she didn't have time to do what she was currently doing - thinking. 

 

It was something Brianna had brought up on the road that was eating away at her, about when she'd returned through the stones to Frank. She had told her daughter that the Frank she returned to was no longer the man she'd left behind and that she herself had changed as well. Certainly the time she'd spent apart from Jamie had changed the both of them as well - and they'd been parted for five times as long as she had been separated from Frank. What if the people they'd become weren't as compatible as the people they'd been? What if she was searching for someone who was no longer there?

She'd come so close to losing Jamie before - after Wentworth when he'd given up and was ready to welcome death, after Faith when they'd both nearly let their pride separate them. And then she had and it was worse than she could have imagined - leaving that cabin and moving away from him, towards the hill and the stones... But she had survived... endured...

For Brianna's sake. Because Jamie had asked her to.

She turned to look at her slumbering daughter again. There was just enough light from the fire and the moonlight streaming through the window to spark off her flaming hair against the pillow. She slept flat on her back with her hands crossed over her stomach - just like Jamie had, right down the her feet sticking out over the edge of the bed because the frame was too small. 

They'd been in the eighteenth century for about a week now and hadn't stopped moving except to rest but Claire knew that Brianna hadn't been able to sleep well. Maybe it had been because they were out on the road. Claire and Frank had taken Brianna camping when she was younger but the conditions were hardly comparable.

Frank. That was the more likely source of Brianna's lack of sleep. Guilt plunged its icy fingers into Claire's chest. She knew she should have told Brianna the truth before bringing her through the stones; she also knew that if she hadn't acted as she did, Brianna would have been in greater danger - if she had known what was happening when they touched the stones, she might have cast her thoughts to Frank and wound up lost in the void, the space between - or they wouldn't have made their way through at all. It had been a selfish move on Claire's part but there had been enough underlying logic to it for her to justify the action to herself. And now that they were here - and Jamie remained so close and yet so far - she could no longer sustain her faith in that justification. 

Tearing Brianna away from Frank had been cruel - not just to Brianna but to Frank as well. She could tell herself he deserved it for keeping the truth from her all she liked, it still made her feel guilty because she had let his actions dictate her own response. His poor choices and deceit did not justify her own. 

Having ripped away Brianna's stability, the least Claire could do was give her the time she needed to come to terms with what was happening and regain her feet. Meeting Jamie would be... difficult... and emotional for both Brianna and Jamie. If the impact could be softened - for either or both of them - it was her responsibility to try and make it so since she was the one who had orchestrated the situation. 

Claire sighed and moved to smoor the fire and crawled into bed beside Brianna. 

Brianna needed time, stability. Lallybroch could give her that - let her figure out how to live in the eighteenth century and cope with what were undoubtedly mixed feelings about meeting the father who a week earlier, she hadn't known existed. She would let Jenny and Ian have their way when it came to making the arrangements for her to go to Jamie - to a point, anyway.

She lay on her back and stretched, listening to the quiet popping of her vertebrae. Her feet stuck out at the end of the bed like her daughter's, though not as far. It wouldn't hurt to have a more suitable room if they were going to stay a while. 


	7. The Journey Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's parole is over and he makes his way home to Lallybroch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a number of questions come up from readers over later chapters so I think I need to add a little note here on the timeline and events of this story as they relate to canon.
> 
> Jamie was at Helwater but **he never slept with Geneva; the William from canon does not exist in this fic.** I haven't written a scene wherein we get to see how Jamie dealt with Geneva's attempts to blackmail him because it would have taken place a while before this fic is set. However, at some point I will probably write how that all went down in this AU to help make it clearer and when I do I will cross link with this fic (but I don't want to just drop a random out-take into the main body of chapters so it won't be within this fic unless folks are willing to wait for it to be an appendix much further down the line).

Jamie came awake with a start. He thought he’d heard something—or someone—approaching but it looked like it might only have been a bird taking flight from the branches above his head. He hated the way that sleeping alone in the open like this made him so jumpy… not that he slept too soundly most of the time.

He rolled onto his knees and pushed himself up to his feet, stretching and hearing the bones of his back, arms, and legs crack at the sudden movement. Leaves and the other detritus he’d used to cover and conceal himself clung to his jacket and breeches. He felt as though the cold had seeped into his very bones and was struck by the familiar pang at not having his plaid to shield himself and trap his warmth. Running his hands through his hair, he dislodged a few more twigs and things then scratched at his chin beneath the short beard that had developed in the weeks of traveling since leaving Helwater.

Lord John had provided a horse for Jamie to use the first leg of his journey home after he had been discharged from his parole and the younger man had accompanied him as far as Edinburgh. Jamie refused any further assistance from Lord John—aside from sharing a meal with him before they parted—and had been making the rest of his journey back to Lallybroch on foot. As he walked, he realized he was not overeager to return home again. He wanted to see his family again—Jenny, Ian, and their children as well as Fergus—but he was already at a loss for what he would do with himself when he got there. He hoped the longer it took, the closer he would come to an answer but so far nothing aside from simply working the fields had struck him.

He wasn’t Laird anymore; he didn’t own the property—technically his nephew did though he was sure Jenny and Ian still had a heavy hand in its running—and while he knew some of the tenants would remember him and be kind to him, his relationship to them would never be what it had been… and he wasn’t sure what to make of it all. He felt adrift and though he could have pressed on the night before and made it to the house and a proper bed for the first time in… He’d not slept in a proper bed since his time in Edinburgh with Claire during the Rising—unless he counted the cot he’d had at Lallybroch during his fever after Culloden, which he wasn’t inclined to do as he had few lucid memories of that time. He could have pressed on but as he came to the base of the hill that overlooked Lallybroch, he hesitated and decided to make camp for the night at the edge of the nearby woods instead—perhaps so he would have another opportunity to change his mind and continue past the estate or turn around and head back to Inverness or Edinburgh to make a fresh start there.

But Jamie knew better than to avoid Lallybroch and Jenny again and he suspected that no matter where he inevitably settled he would feel the sense of detachment he’d had since Culloden and the loss of Claire.

He delayed a bit longer, lying on the bank of the burn with his hands in the freezing water until a fish swam along, then striking rapidly and tossing it to the bank beside him—breakfast. Even if he crawled the rest of the way to Lallybroch he’d be there before midday. He carefully cleared his campsite and finally started up the hill.

From the top he could see the road down and into the yard. It was too far to make out who it might be moving about but that there were people down there, he was certain. About halfway to the main gate, Jamie realized that there was someone running up the path towards him—two someones, actually. The first was smaller and moved faster while the second was enthusiastic at first but stopped part of the way and froze in his or her tracks. Squinting to see who it might be, he couldn’t make out more than that the person was female and either red headed or blonde. The young woman—she seemed young anyway—turned around and ran back towards the house. It was probably one of Jenny and Ian’s girls gone back to fetch them for his arrival.

He felt his assumption was confirmed when the second approaching figure proved to be a dark-haired boy that he immediately recognized as one of the Murray brood.

“Are ye Michael Murray or young Ian Murray?” Jamie called to the lad as he approached.

“Ian,” the lad called out with excitement. “And _you_ must be my Uncle Jamie,” the boy declared. He breathed heavily as he came to a stop in front of Jamie but he didn’t stop moving. Positively bouncing in place, Ian’s excitement refused to be contained.

“And how is it exactly that ye recognized me when the last I saw you ye were small enough to fit in the crook of my arm?” Jamie inquired, crossing his arms over his chest and examining the lad with a wary eye. “Ye must’ve heard yer mam and da mention me—and my red hair too I suppose.”

“Aye, they have,” Ian confirmed with a nod, pausing and frowning a moment. “Though they’ve no mentioned yer beard afore.” Ian tilted his head to examine his uncle’s face a bit more. “I can see why they say Bree looks like ye,” he finally concluded with a nod before his overexcitement returned. “If ye’re here then they dinna have to go find ye. Wait till Auntie Claire hears!” the young boy exclaimed before turning round and dashing back to the house.

Jamie stood frozen in place on the road, certain he’d misheard what young Ian had said. But the sudden pounding in his chest was overpowering—he couldn’t hear above the blood pulsing in his head. Jamie closed his eyes and shook his head furiously to shake the sound of her name out again, to force the meaning of what Ian had said from sinking in fully and reigniting a flame of hope.

It had been sparked once before when he’d been at prison in Ardsmuir—Lord—no, Major John Grey—and the crown’s push to recover the gold and gems sent by Louis, the dying man’s mention of the White Woman. His escape had been an absurd risk and had it only been the promise of money, he’d not have dared… but the frail possibility of Claire… If he had died in the attempt, he’d have been satisfied that at least he had passed trying to get to her—and he would be certain of finding her in death at some point.

The blow when he’d found nothing—no sign of her—and had to face the reality that he was still alone, that she was still gone had been emotionally crippling and very close to physically crippling as well. What made it worse was that it had been entirely his own fault—he’d allowed himself to hope. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, no matter what the child had said.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and then a single step forward. He could see the figure of young Ian kicking up dust as he raced back along the road to the gates of Lallybroch. Another breath and another step forward. Jenny and Ian would soon come to find him so he really couldn’t turn away now. Another breath and another step. He knew that Claire wasn’t at Lallybroch physically—his chest squeezed again—but if he was going to feel her presence anywhere, it would be in the rooms of the home they’d shared, however briefly. Another choking breath and another forced step.

There was a flash of movement at the gate of Lallybroch as someone met young Ian there and took him by the shoulders for a desperate moment before letting him go and running up the road towards Jamie. His heart pounded and that spark of hope flared again.

A woman. Dark hair. Too tall and swift to be Jenny. She was lifting her skirts to keep from tripping on them.

“Claire,” he breathed. His steps were easier now, forcing himself not to run until he was sure.

“Jamie!” he heard his name called and the voice…

“Claire!” he cried back, dropping all pretense and running toward her, his mind reeling in disbelief.

He watched her stumble, dropping her skirts to catch herself before she fell on her face, and then picking them up again to continue her advance. A pin from her hair had come loose and several curls strayed from their fellows. He was certain it was her but whether she was real or just another figment of his imaginings…

They both slowed when there were only a few feet remaining between them, pausing for a brief last moment of disbelief—where his mind continued telling him that it wasn’t real, she _couldn’t_ really be there—and then they were in each other’s arms.

She was warm and soft in his arms—tangible in a way she hadn’t been the multitude of times he’d conjured her for himself. Her hair tickled his nose as he breathed in the scent of her—sharp with the tang of herbs. Her face was tucked against his neck and he could feel the wetness of her tears as they soaked into the rough fabric of his shirt. There was a hitch in her voice as she sobbed and repeated, “You’re alive, you’re alive.” His tears of joyous relief shimmered in her hair.

He was as large and solid as she remembered, his features only temporarily obscured by the unfamiliar growth of his beard. She’d thought she’d forgotten it—the musky way he smelled when he’d been active, his sweat mingling with the earthy smells of the ground he’d been sleeping on. He was shaking as he held her but then she realized her sobs had her trembling too. She could feel one of his hands stroking her hair, clenching a fistful for a moment and then letting go to run his fingers through it. Most of it having already come loose as she ran, the rest soon cascaded down around her shoulders.

Somehow they ended up in a pile on the ground, Claire effectively in Jamie’s lap as he whispered over and over, “Ye’re real, Sassenach. Ye’re really here. I’m no dreamin’ or dead? Ye’re real?”

As the shock began to fade and their shaking dissipated, they were finally able to pull back from one another long enough to really look at each other, to start locating the marks of the time that had passed. They saw the effects of those first desperate tears and broke into smiles and light laughter though their eyes remained wet. Claire pulled out a handkerchief and began blotting at her own face before taking hold of Jamie’s chin and using it to wipe away the dirty streaks his tears left on his cheeks, her thumb stroking along his cheekbone when she’d finished.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her fingers dropping to investigate his ruddy beard—it was softer than she imagined, remembering how rough his cheeks had always been after a day or two without shaving.

“I’ve missed you, too, Sassenach,” he told her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He still had a hand in her hair, drawing one of her curls forward over her shoulder, his fingers pulled it straight and slid down to the end before releasing it and watching it bounce back to its naturally twisted state.

Claire’s thumb grazed Jamie’s lower lip before she glanced up from her inspection of his features and caught his gaze. She saw her yearning and hesitation were reflected in his eyes with yearning ultimately winning out.

Their kiss was tentative at first—a light brushing of the lips—but the soft, gentle, and familiar warmth drew them together again for a deeper kiss of reclamation. When they finally pulled away it was to rest their heads against one another and catch their breath, breathing one another in deeply.

“And… ye’re here…” Jamie faltered.

“What?” Claire urged him.

“Ye’re here… to be my wife again?”

She laughed quietly. “I never _stopped_ being your wife,” she assured him. “And I’ve no intention of being talked into leaving like that again.”

“I couldna do to part wi’ you again now ye’re here,” he told her with a catch in his voice and a tightening of his hold on her.

She rubbed her nose along his. “Good. I’m glad that’s settled.”

“Sassenach… _why_ are ye here?”

“ _You’re_ not reason enough,” she teased, avoiding the more serious turn his tone had taken.

Sure enough he frowned. “Ye ken what I meant. Why _now_? What… what made ye come? Is there something amiss in yer time?”

Claire took a deep preparatory breath. “I… thought you were dead… for so long—and couldn’t bear the thought of… looking for you—of seeing it… As if that would have changed anything—in two hundred years you _will_ be dead.” She sighed. “I told Frank everything when I got back. He… he said he didn’t believe me—and I don’t think he did—not about _when_ I’d been anyway. He certainly believed me about loving you… after a while at least. Somewhere along the way—I don’t know when—but something must have changed his mind.”

“Frank sent ye back to me?” Jamie asked in disbelief but Claire shook her head, unable to meet his eye.

“I found his research. I don’t know how long he’d been looking for you but the dates on some of the papers… He’d been at it for a while and never said a word. I realized that some of the documents… the dates… I realized you were still alive and there was a chance…” Tears clogged her throat again as she looked up at him again. “I had to try and find you—it wasn’t fair for him to keep the truth from us like that. She deserved to know and you deserve to know each other—”

“She?” Jamie interrupted with a strangled croak. “The child…”

The tension and lingering frustration that had begun building as she thought about Frank’s role in the situation—and the guilt she knew she would always feel—faded at the sight of Jamie’s face. He made no attempt to hide his terrified yearning from her. She slid a hand up to stroke at a stubborn cowlick that stuck out in a position similar to where Brianna was prone to get them, though the length and weight of her hair made them less noticeable.

“Brianna,” Claire told him quietly. “Our daughter’s name is Brianna Ellen.”

“Brianna Ellen,” he repeated in a whisper, rolling it off his tongue in a way Claire couldn’t quite manage. “I have a daughter…” There was a note of disbelief in the way he said it.

“You do. And you’ve turned up in time for her fourteenth birthday,” she informed him. “You’ll have to explain why you didn’t send word ahead that you were coming—Jenny and Ian were sure you were still at Helwater and Ian was helping make arrangements so that Bree and I could—”

“The lass is _here_?” he sought to clarify.

“Well, yes. Where else would she be?” Claire remarked, caught off guard.

“Ye brought her with ye through the stones? Christ, Claire, how could ye take such a risk wi’ her? After all ye’ve told me of how miserable it is, ye’d force her to go through it—”

“I didn’t _force_ her through,” Claire said defensively, his words striking the vein of her guilt. “I brought her to the stones and promised myself if she wasn’t able—and anyway it didn’t matter because she was drawn to the stones the same way I was the first time I came through. I was prepared and had the things we’d need so that all I had to do was grab her hand so that we touched the stone together and I was able to… _guide_ us here. I told her what had happened immediately and explained everything and… she’s come around.”

“Ye tricked her into it, Claire,” he scolded.

“I couldn’t stay with Frank anymore,” she snapped, her hands in his hair, gripping tightly. “Not after the lies he told. And I couldn’t very well leave her behind. I couldn’t lie to her anymore and she… you…” Claire’s frustration was spent and the guilt all that was left. Tears began streaking down her face again and Jamie pulled her to him, resting her head against his collarbone and stroking her hair. “You deserve to know each other,” Claire said quietly as she melted against Jamie, bolstered by the steadiness of his breathing and the reassurance of his cheek pressed to the crown of her head.

“What’s she like?” he asked in a whisper. “I’ve… I’ve wondered and tried picturing the both of ye for so long… What’s she like?”

“She’s like you,” Claire told him with a smile. “From your ruddy hair to your bloody stubbornness—she’s all Fraser.”

“And… ye’ve told her about me?”

“She’s still getting used to the idea. Frank… he has been a good father to her,” Claire said cautiously. “She’s attached to him and was… resistant to the truth. But it’s hard to deny the truth of the stones once you’ve experienced them first hand. Being here at Lallybroch has helped—Jenny and Ian… She’s curious about you now, I think.” Claire looked up into Jamie’s face and fought a laugh. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her hand and turned his face so that he was forced to look at her. “You’ll do fine,” she assured him but the uncertainty wasn’t so easily calmed.

Claire moved to get out of Jamie’s lap and stand. Once she was on her feet, she held a hand out to help him get to his and proceeded to dust him off a bit, slipping instinctively back into their old familiarity.

“Come on, then. It’s time you met your daughter,” she told him with a final swipe at a bit of dirt on his cheek.

As they turned to continue down the last stretch of road to the gates, Brianna was waiting in the path in front of them.


	8. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger on the road turns out to be Jamie and Brianna must confront the reality of meeting her biological father.

When Brianna woke after their first night at Lallybroch to discover that her mother had come around to her aunt and uncle’s suggestion of waiting and taking time to plan their journey to the Helwater estate in England, she was relieved. There was so much about Lallybroch and the family she had there that she wanted to explore—and she still needed to get used to the idea of Jamie Fraser. Though she had listened to her mother’s stories about the man who was her father, it was difficult for her to get a sense of him from them. She needed something tangible to wrap her mind around him and though meeting him in the flesh would certainly fit the bill for being tangible, she knew she wasn’t ready for that.

But Lallybroch… Seeing the buildings where Jamie Fraser had grown up, meeting people who knew him—beyond her mother’s decidedly biased memories and opinions of him—was putting Brianna at ease, not just with the idea of him but with herself. She still had some issues with aspects of living in the eighteenth century—she doubted she would ever get past the infrequent and inadequate bathing habits and what passed for toilet facilities. But she wasn’t missing television or electricity as much as she first expected. Candlelight was annoying when she wanted to read from the books she borrowed from the study but she was able to acclimate and learned when enough was enough and prudently turned in for the night. She finished _Gulliver’s Travels_ by the end of her first week and moved on to _Robinson Crusoe_.

Of her cousins, young Ian was the most openly fascinated by Brianna and Claire. Young Jamie was preoccupied with courting a young woman who lived in the village of Broch Mordha—they planned to wed in the spring. Maggie and Kitty were preoccupied with _being_ courted though their parents were both of a mind that they should wait some years yet before marrying themselves. The two older girls were rather inclined to keep to themselves being closer in age to each other than to Brianna. The twins shared a similar partnership of communication. Janet did appear to be curious about her aunt and cousin, but was less confrontational than most of the rest of her family—about as far from her namesake mother in personality as any of the Murray children got; she was content to let Brianna come to her. Which left young Ian as Brianna’s enthusiastic guide to Lallybroch.

He shirked his lessons every chance he got in order to lead Brianna about the estate’s buildings and grounds, taking her to the lilting tower from which the estate derived its name to the furthest borders of the property. He introduced her to the children of the Lallybroch tenants and through them she met their parents, many of whom remarked on her resemblance to her father—or grandmother in the case of some of the oldest tenants they encountered. A few inquired after her mother, looking to see if Claire might be inclined to examine a festering sore or swollen joint.

After a few days, Claire suggested Brianna take lessons with her cousins. Though young Jamie hadn’t been so inclined, Michael was preparing for an education at the same French university their uncle had attended—and a possible future working with Jared in his spirits business. Brianna’s twentieth century education had her over-prepared in some areas—she was especially adept in mathematics—but woefully behind in others more valued in the eighteenth century. Interrupting Brianna’s education had been one of the aspects of Claire’s decision to bring her through the stones that weighed heaviest on her. Janet was already beginning to direct her academic efforts towards skills that would prove useful in helping to run a large household.

Brianna didn’t mind as much as her mother did but a return to the structure of lessons proved surprisingly calming—to have a set schedule and list of tasks that she _could_ accomplish helped settle her. After a few hours of lessons, Ian had taken to giving her a more thorough tour of Lallybroch and its grounds, answering the questions she had regarding some of the structures and their purposes as well as providing her with insights into the history of the land and its people— _her_ people.

A routine took shape and she found herself settling into it with relative ease and comfort, though she knew better than to grow too attached to it. Young Ian had been helpful when it came to eavesdropping on their parents’ conversations concerning Claire’s plans to continue their pursuit of her husband. She knew that her mother was getting impatient—the longer they waited and the further into winter they got, the more difficult it would be to travel any great distance, especially on foot. Fergus’ offer to accompany them was appreciated but might only invite interference and suspicion—his French accent, Claire’s English accent, and Brianna’s clearly foreign accent would mark them as targets for all manner of things.

If they had to bring anyone from Lallybroch, Brianna wanted her Uncle Ian’s company. But he would require they travel by horse and the beasts couldn’t be spared—or risked as they might be confiscated by raiding Red Coats, though there had been fewer and fewer parties of them every year.

“I dinna think they’ll be through again,” young Ian whispered to Brianna as they listened to Jenny’s objections. “They’ve no been through since I was a bairn.”

Brianna was bored with listening in and pushed herself to her feet, abandoning the cramped hiding spot young Ian preferred to head out into the yard where she found it easier to breathe. She stared up into the cloud-streaked sky. It was beautiful and still caught her by surprise though they’d been at Lallybroch for almost three weeks. She still caught herself lowering her eyes to the horizon and expecting to see the silhouettes of skyscrapers and distant buildings; the closest she ever found was the lilting tower. There were only birds and wisps of cloud overhead; never the streak of a gliding plane circling to land at Logan.

“D’ye see that?” young Ian asked, tugging on her arm and pointing a ways up the road. “I think there’s someone comin’.”

“Perhaps,” Brianna said, squinting at the distant figure.

“Come on,” Ian said, tugging her arm with greater enthusiasm. He let go her arm and started running forward, eager to be the first to greet any and every new comer to Lallybroch.

As he bounded off, Brianna rolled her eyes and smiled. He reminded her of a dog heading to investigate and be the first to carry word of their visitor. Ian, of course, was familiar with many who might pass through. Brianna took her time as she followed after Ian, hoping he didn’t wear the man down—given his size and attire, she was certain it was a man—with his inevitable barrage of questions.

Something about the man caught Brianna’s attention and made her stop. Ian had nearly reached him and the man had paused to gauge the young boy coming at him. There was something immediately familiar in the way the man stood, the set of his shoulders, the upright posture, the way he set raised his hand and ran it through his hair—and then the flash of color atop his head caused her stomach to flip uncomfortably.

Jamie Fraser. It had to be him—she was sure of it in her bones. And she was just as sure that she wasn’t ready for this. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to meet him—quite the contrary. She just needed more time—time to figure out what to say to him, how to say it, which of the multitude of questions she had for him should she ask first, and time to prepare herself for what he would think of her, say to her.

She turned and ran back to the main house.

Inside she didn’t hesitate to intrude on her mother’s conversation with Jenny and Ian.

“Bree,” Claire exclaimed, rising hastily and crossing to her daughter. “Is everything all right?” She began running her eyes over Brianna, assessing her for damage and injury. Brianna waved her off.

“Someone’s coming up the road,” she explained with a calm voice that surprised her. Her attention was focused on her mother. “I… I think it’s… _him_.”

“Jamie?” Claire inquired, confused. She looked to Jenny and Ian who first glanced at one another before Jenny shrugged and they all started moving to the door, Claire quickly outpacing them.

As they came out to the yard, they could see that young Ian had reached and was speaking with the man on the road. Claire started forward at a quick but controlled pace. Jenny and Ian chose to wait and Brianna held back too. If it was Jamie Fraser on the road, none of them wanted to interrupt his and Claire’s reunion. Young Ian soon turned and began running back to the house but the man remained still. When Claire met young Ian on his way back, she started running forward, the man’s identity confirmed for the rest of them.

“I’d best go see Mrs. Crook about getting a proper supper on the table tonight,” Jenny declared, a note of satisfaction and relief ringing in her voice. “A light luncheon… Need to get more bedding aired out…” she continued muttering to herself as she headed into the house.

Young Ian arrived out of breath. “It’s… Uncle… Jamie,” he panted before bending dramatically so that his hands rested on his thighs and he could take deeper breaths. Turning to Brianna, he declared, “Now ye and Auntie dinna need to leave.” Knowing he wouldn’t have been allowed to go with them, he’d been in danger of sulking at the prospect of their leaving again. Without waiting for her to say anything in response, the boy ran to the house hollering to his siblings about Uncle Jamie’s return and setting the house into a flurry of activity in the process.

Brianna looked from where her mother and Jamie were locked in an embrace to Uncle Ian. He gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Go on then. He’ll be wantin’ to meet ye,” Ian encouraged her. “And dinna forget—he’s as much notion of what to make of ye and ye do of him.”

She walked slowly along the road to where her parents were preoccupied with one another very consciously observing their interactions. It was unsettling to see her mother with another man. Claire had never been hesitant when it came to touching people. Brianna had always assumed it came with being a doctor and the practicalities of the job—examining patients of varying degrees of health, illness, and injury, from different races, sexes, and across the wide spectrum of age. It wasn’t until she watched the tenderness with which Claire ran her fingers over Jamie’s face, wiping away dirt and tears, that it occurred to her how little she’d ever seen her mother touch Frank— _really_ touch him. She’d place a hand on his arm or shoulder from time to time, usually at social functions where they were there as a family with her parents presenting their united parental front. Of course, it went both ways—Frank had kept his distance physically from Claire as well. They moved around each other, each touch deliberate and purposeful.

But Jamie had his hands buried in Claire’s hair, she was running her fingers through his beard, she was sitting in his lap. Watching made Brianna self-conscious, her face flushing, but she couldn’t look away. Their touch was deliberate too but in a different way—absorbing, soothing, desperate, greedy. They moved together. And seeing them kiss, the way it commanded all of their attention… She’d rarely seen Frank and Claire display their affection for one another, even in the privacy of their home, and they’d certainly never lost themselves to the world around them in the process.

Brianna was getting close enough to see that they were talking and to pick up on fragments of the conversation, though most of it was rather low as they were so close to one another, being heard wasn’t much of a concern. She slowed her steps, not wanting to interrupt when the two of them clearly had a lot to say to one another.

She started when Jamie exclaimed disapprovingly, “Ye brought her with ye through the stones? Christ, Claire, how could ye take such a risk wi’ her? After all ye’ve told me of how miserable it is, ye’d force her to go through it—”

Claire spoke up in her defense but Brianna had heard those arguments already. Her immediate fear was that Jamie was angry she was here—that he didn’t want to meet her. Before the hurt had a chance to sink in, she noted the protective edge to his voice as he scolded her mother and a moment later the awe and eagerness with which he asked about her. She wanted to step forward and say something, do something to show him she was there but she remained frozen in place, unable to even conjure the things she’d thought about saying before, let alone speak them aloud. She wanted that one last moment to herself where she could watch him without him being consciously aware she was there.

Then her mother was scrambling to her feet and pulling Jamie to his, brushing the dust from his coat, shirt, and breeches the way she’d wiped stray bits of the outdoors off of Brianna’s coats before she could traipse it through their house in Boston.

Brianna braced herself for the moment they would notice her, training her eyes on her father, terrified and eager to catch his first impressions of her.

“Brianna,” Claire exclaimed, when she realized her daughter was right in front of them. Claire felt Jamie’s hand tighten reflexively in her own. She turned to Jamie and ran her free hand reassuringly up his arm. “Jamie,” she said quietly, “this is your daughter—Brianna Ellen Fraser. Bree,” she turned to her daughter, willing her to take another step forward, “your father.”

Neither Brianna nor Jamie made a move or said a word. Claire swallowed, uncertain. She gave Jamie’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I think I’ll leave you to yourselves,” she said quietly. She could feel the tension in Jamie as he panicked. She turned and rose on her toes to kiss him gently on the cheek. He closed his eyes at her touch, savoring it, reluctant to let her go but unable to move to hold her there. Her hand slipped from his as she crossed to their daughter, pressed a kiss to her temple, and gave her arm a comforting squeeze as well. Then Claire was slowly walking back along the road to Lallybroch leaving him alone with Brianna.

She was taller than he would have guessed for a lass of fourteen—broader built as well… but there was still a feminine softness about her. She still had his angles but the promise of Claire’s curves lurked beneath the surface. She bit her lip in a way he knew she’d picked up from Claire—it was one of her tells that she had something to say but didn’t want to be the first to speak.

“Brianna,” he finally managed to say.

“Brianna Ellen,” she added. “Mama says I’m named for your parents.”

“Aye, ye are,” he replied quietly with a reverent nod.

She flushed under his intense gaze. “And Auntie Jenny says I look like your mother.”

He smiled and nodded again. “Aye, ye do.” His brow furrowed unexpectedly causing Brianna to freeze. Cautiously, he took the steps necessary to close the gap between the two of them and raised his hand to the loose end of Brianna’s fiery plait, taking it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve… I’ve tried picturing ye so many times since I parted wi’ Claire… I saw ye so many ways—were ye a lad or lass, were ye walking yet or talking. I kent if ye were a lass ye’d be beautiful,” he muttered as the pad of his thumb stroked the soft end of her braid. She flushed redder and looked away. “But I never thought ye’d take after me so strongly.”

Brianna looked up surprised and watched Jamie’s amusement bloom across his face. She relaxed and let herself smile too.

“It was difficult to think of ye any bigger than a wee thing—I didna like to think of ye growing and me no there to see—but however I pictured ye, ye always took after yer mother wi’ her dark curls and those eyes.” He blinked, the spell broken. He dropped her hair and looked to the ground, scared that he’d crossed a line with the lass who had _not_ spent fifteen years wondering about him the way he had about her.

“You know… I always wondered where my name came from,” Brianna remarked. “Dad—that is… Frank—is interested in genealogy and I knew it wasn’t from his side or Mama’s.” She stumbled over the words, afraid the mention of Frank might offend Jamie. “It’s… Things like that… Some things about myself are starting to make more sense.”

“I’m sorry… I wasna there for ye when ye were small,” Jamie began apologizing. He stopped when Brianna began shaking her head, tears pricking in her eyes unbidden. “Is… something wrong, _mo nighean ruaidh_?”

“No, I’m just… I don’t know…”

“Aye, no. Neither do I,” Jamie admitted frankly.

“What was it you called me just now? Uncle Ian has mentioned teaching me Gáidhlig but we haven’t started yet. Doesn’t _nighean_ mean… girl?”

“Lass,” Jamie nodded. “I’ve… I’ve called yer mam _mo nighean donn_ since we were married. She’s my brown-haired lass, ye ken.”

“So _ruaidh_ … red-haired lass?” Brianna guessed.

“Ye’re a bright one then,” Jamie noted with pride. He blinked and the caution crept back into his expression. “Ye… ye dinna mind me calling ye that, do ye?”

Brianna shook her head. “I don’t mind. But… what would you like for me to call you?”

He made a noise of contemplation before venturing, “Well… I called _my_ father ‘Da’… I wouldna mind if _you_ wanted to call me that as well—I’d be honored, in fact.”

“Da it is then,” Brianna consented. She moved impulsively, slipping under his arms and discovering that her hands barely met at his back.

It only took a moment before he responded. One of his arms pressed tight across her lower back while the other hand cupped the back of her head as one would a newborn child, clutching her to his chest and pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

She didn’t know what it was he was saying but she recognized it as Gáidhlig and found the sound of his voice as it negotiated the oddly guttural language reassuring and soothing. He was warm and solid and safe; he smelled of dirt and sweat—he smelled of life.

“We should head on to the house,” he suggested after a few moments. “Yer mam will be waiting on us. No to mention my sister will be making a fuss and if I dinna show my face soon…”

Brianna laughed and pulled back, ducking her head to wipe at the tears that stung her eyes.

Jamie slid his arm lightly around her shoulders as they began walking towards the house.

“Will ye tell me what ye think of Lallybroch? D’ye like it here?” he inquired, searching for something safe to discuss so they could become better acquainted.


	9. A Ways Yet to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire spend some time reconnecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains NSFW material.

Claire waited by the archway to the Lallybroch yard. She could hear the flurry of activity inside the house as Jenny directed the preparations for Jamie’s formal return. Everyone had been shooed from the yard to give his wife and child some privacy but there was only so much that could be done about the faces at the windows and young Ian hovering by the door and peeking round, careful to follow his mother’s strict instructions that he wasn’t to set a toe outside until she gave him leave.

Finally, Claire spotted Jamie and Brianna making their way along the road. He had an arm lightly about her shoulders and they appeared to be getting on well on their own. She longed to listen in but also knew that this was something they needed to figure out on their own—together. She could feel the strain in her cheeks from the proud smile she had no desire to suppress and blinked repeatedly in an effort to keep tears from resurfacing. The image of the pair of them together was one that had haunted her for years. It had been so easy to conjure the pride that Jamie would have worn as he watched his daughter grow and take her first steps, speak her first words—though he’d never seen a bicycle himself, she’d envisioned him grinning as he watched Brianna wobble as she pedaled.

Brianna seemed to be an inherent contradiction as Claire watched her daughter lift her skirts to keep from treading on them—she carried herself in an undeniably mature way and yet there was a wonder in her face that Claire hadn’t seen since Brianna was four or five and still believed in things like Santa Claus. They were still hesitant with one another but Claire knew ease would come with time and familiarity.

When they spotted her waiting, Brianna broke free from Jamie and ran to give Claire a hug, trembling as she whispered, “I’m glad we don’t have to leave Lallybroch to find him now.” She slipped loose glancing between her parents and turned to head inside to help her aunt and cousins.

“She’s a braw lass,” Jamie told Claire as he took Brianna’s place at her side, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. His voice was thick and low. “Ye did good by her, Claire. I’m sorry ye had to do it wi’out me, but ye did well all the same.”

“You two found plenty to talk about?” she inquired as they strolled slowly to the door.

“Aye. For now. We’ll no be able to talk much of how she grew up wi’ so many ears about the house but we’ll find time and opportunities, I’m sure,” he mused contentedly.

“We’ll _make_ time and opportunities,” Claire promised.

They were nearly at the door and Jamie paused. He could already hear young Ian clambering to his parents about everyone coming to meet Uncle Jamie at the door.

“D’ye think she’ll do well here?” he asked. “She’ll no miss yer own time?”

“I know she does,” Claire confessed quietly. “But—”

“There ye are, brother,” Jenny beamed as she interrupted, bustling to the door and ushering them inside. “Why’d ye no send word ye were coming? It’s a lucky thing yer wife didna have her way or the pair of ye might ha’ missed one another—her and Bree goin’ as you were comin’.” Jamie let Claire go long enough to hug his sister properly and pat Ian on the back.

“I dinna ken there’s much as could surprise us more’n Claire showing up in the yard wi’ Brianna in tow,” Ian remarked.

“I’ve already set the maids about fixing the sleepin’ arrangements,” Jenny explained as Claire led Jamie into the hall to sit down. “Ah-ah,” Jenny exclaimed, rushing to prevent Jamie from taking that seat. “No till ye’ve had a good wash. Ye’re wearing as much dirt and dust as ye are cloth. I’ve had some of yer old things aired out,” she explained, holding aloft a small pile of clothes, “and I’ll fetch them to yer room along wi’ more water and Ian’s shaving kit. Ye’ll be decent when ye sit to dinner tonight. Whatever stories ye have to tell can surely keep till then. Claire will show ye the way and help ye if there’s help ye need,” Jenny instructed firmly, shooing Jamie and Claire towards the stairs. “We’ve just settled from the excitement of Claire and Brianna arriving on our steps and I’ll no have you getting everyone riled up all over agin.” She turned to her younger children who had gathered at the edges of the room to watch their uncle with the wife he’d not seen in so long. “Back to yer lessons and yer chores and if ye’ve naught to keep yer hands busy I’ll find something to put in them myself.”

Brianna felt a bit adrift as she watched her parents head upstairs followed by Jenny with her hands full. Her head was reeling from the relief of finally having that first meeting with Jamie—with _Da_ —over. She could breathe a little easier but seeing her mother walk away with him brought home the fact that it was no longer just the two of them, that she would now be sharing her mother with him… and him with her. It was an odd realization and an unexpected sensation. She had lived for fourteen years with her mother and Frank and was never in doubt as to her hold over each of them.

Her younger cousin, Janet, interrupted her reverie.

“Ye missed Mam’s decisions for the rooming situation,” she said quietly. “If ye’re agreeable, you and I are to share a room.”

* * *

 Brianna turned sharply to face her cousin and flushed at the flash of anger and frustration that swept through her at the idea of having to share a room with anyone other than her mother. But of course, she would need a room of her own now that Da was back. And she knew that even in a house as large as Lallybroch, there were still a lot of people to fit under its roof.

“I’ve been in the nursery with Michael and Ian all along but Mam says Michael and I are a bit old for it now—not that Ian isn’t. Michael’s going to stay with Jamie till he marries in the spring and then Ian will join him once Jamie and Joan take their cottage. Da said they could live in the house here as Jamie’s of age and it’s rightly his now, but he said Joan wants a place for themselves and they’ll come back in after Maggie and Kitty have married and there’s more room.”

“I… I don’t mind,” Brianna interrupted before Janet could continue to far in her nervous prattling. “You should know though, I’ve never had to share a room before—except with Mama that is.”

“I’ve only ever shared a room with my brothers,” Janet said with a shrug. “I doubt you will be worse to share with than them.”

“You never shared with your sisters?” Brianna inquired. She had found Maggie and Kitty to be incredibly close to one another and reluctant to do much more than observe her—and titter about it between themselves.

“No. They’ve shared wi’ each other all their lives. Mam likes to say I’d ha’ been that way wi’ Caitlin had she no come too soon. We’d ha’ been close in age the way Maggie and Kitty are,” Janet explained with a note of regret.

Brianna nodded in understanding. She hadn’t been the only one of her friends growing up who had no siblings but having attended a Catholic school, there were far more students from larger families and she’d often envied them—though she learned quickly not to voice such opinions aloud. Many admitted that while they loved their siblings, having them wasn’t always the treat Brianna liked to imagine it would be. Little brothers and sisters might read your diary while older brothers and sisters teased and picked on you; siblings fought and laid blame on one another, tattled to angry parents. But they also were playmates; someone to complain to about your shared parents; and as she’d seen in the weeks since coming to Lallybroch and watching her cousins, they could be leaned on, joked with, confided in.

“Do you suppose we should go work on moving our things now?” she suggested to Janet.

“I’d rather work on setting up our room than lessons,” Janet nodded.

Before they could make it halfway up the stairs, they met with Jenny on her way down.

“Turn yerselves around girls and head back to yer lessons,” she instructed, herding them back down before her. “There’ll be time to settle in up there before ye turn in for the night. It’s best to leave Claire to help Jamie settle in again in peace.”

Brianna glanced up the stairs towards the landing, confused for a moment before she felt the blood rush to her face with a dawning awareness.

“Perhaps _you_ can start teaching me a bit of Gáidhlig,” she suggested to Janet as Auntie Jenny remained at the bottom of the stairs a moment to be sure they went on their way.

* * *

Jenny brushed in and set the pile of clothes on a chair by the fire. “There’s water in the pitcher there but more’ll be up in a moment. I’ll just fetch ye Ian’s kit,” she explained, bustling back out of the room to head for hers and Ian’s.

Claire helped Jamie remove his coat as a maid came in with a second pitcher of water and some cloths.

“Let me take that for ye, sir,” she said with a nod to the dirt-encrusted coat. “I’ll put it in for the wash.”

Jenny reappeared with Ian’s shaving kit, laying it out on the table by the mirror for Jamie.

“Just leave it on our bed when ye’re through wi’ it,” she told them before ushering the maid out ahead of her and closing the door decidedly behind her.

Claire laughed quietly. “Not quite the homecoming you were expecting, is it?”

Jamie shook his head. “No, though I canna say I’m sorry for that. I canna say what to make of _anything_  yet.” He moved to the basin and poured water in to wash his hands and face first.

“It is a lot to take in,” Claire admitted apologetically as Jamie dried his hands and began examining Ian’s shaving tools. Claire poked around the room she’d been sharing with Brianna, tidying needlessly and rearranging the clothes in their shared trunk.

“Aye,” Jamie muttered as he lathered up his face to begin his shave.

Claire turned and leaned against the closed trunk so she could watch Jamie in the mirror. He wielded the blade with care removing the short growth of his beard with long, slow strokes. First one of his cheeks was smooth again and then the other, revealing the familiar angles of his jaw and cheekbones. He looked younger and more familiar without the beard but Claire saw that there were lines on his face that the beard had kept hidden or subdued—lines that hadn’t been there when they’d parted fifteen years before.

Jamie caught her eye in the mirror and smiled gently as he cleaned Ian’s razor and began putting the things away again. “Do I look more like myself again, Sassenach?”

She rose and crossed to him, taking the damp towel and raising it to wipe at a stray bit of lather on his cheek. “Do you _feel_ more like yourself?”

His hands found their way to her waist and rested there lightly. When she removed the towel he bent down to touch his forehead to hers. “Aye. More than I have since ye went. I… I dinna ken if I trust it, though.”

“You’re afraid it won’t last.” She understood because she felt a little of the same hesitancy, the same tension. After so long apart they were finally together again and it was like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something more to happen and come between them again.

She reached up and traced the faint lines time had left across his brow, between his eyes. They were far from the laugh lines she’d hoped to watch his face grow into when he’d first brought her home to Lallybroch the first time she’d chosen him at the stones. He knew what she was doing and reached a hand up to her hair where he located one of the few grays to be found. He caught it between his fingers and pulled it loose so they could both see it.

“We’re no so old and gray yet,” he remarked, letting the hair go.

“No. We have some time left. Now come on. You need to change and wash up so Jenny will let you sit on the furniture.”

Jamie snorted as Claire moved to dump and replenish the water in the basin for him.

“Aye, there’s that. But it’s no just about the dirt and filth getting into the crannies of the house,” he explained as he pulled his shirt off over his head. “It’s… When I would come from the cave… it took some time to… to become myself again—to shed the wildness of living on my own like that. They’d let me shave and wash… to feel like a man again.”

Claire wet one of the towels. "And do you-" She cut off as she turned to hand it to him, freezing as she saw his bare back turned to her. He glanced over his shoulder at her and saw the sorrow in her eyes. She’d seen his back many times before and had long ago memorized the pattern of ridges and gullies the scar tissue formed. She stepped towards him and raised her fingers, gently tracing the unfamiliar lines.

“Ardsmuir,” Jamie responded quietly. “A lad had a bit of tartan with him and one of the guards found it. I claimed it as mine. It wasna too bad though. No like Fort William.”

Claire raised the cloth and started wiping away the streaks of dust and sweat that had trickled beneath the collar of his shirt and down his back. He trembled at her touch and after cleansing his back, she pressed her lips to the marks that were new to her until Jamie reached around behind him and caught her by the arm, pulling her around so that she stood in front of him. Claire waited for his breathing to even out again, then went to the basin and rinsed the towel out, leaving it draped over the edge.

Her left palm was held up to him when she turned back. He took it and squinted at a short but thick silver mark along the outer edge.

“The cloth slipped when I was taking dinner out of the oven,” she explained. “Burned my hand and there was food all over the kitchen. Brianna was three and playing at the table when it happened. It was a week before we got her to stop saying ‘shit’ whenever she dropped something.”

Jamie smiled and raised Claire’s palm to his lips, closing his eyes as he kissed the scar then reaching down to take her right hand in his left, turning it to find the faint 'J' that was still visible at the base of her thumb. The tip of her little finger stroked the 'C' she had marked him with.

When he let go of her hands, Claire rested one on his smooth cheek before slipping it to the nape of his neck and drawing him down for a kiss, opening her mouth to his as his hands slipped to her waist, fingers digging in hungrily. Breaking away to breathe, Jamie began untying the laces of Claire’s bodice while her fingers trailed over the skin of his chest, finding the marks she’d catalogued during their night in the cabin, searching for the ones that had been made in the time since.

They took their time stripping their layers of clothes away, paying proper attention and care to each mark—listening to the stories behind them, memorizing them, relearning the secrets of one another’s bodies. Jamie sat on the edge of the bed as he told Claire about the wound he received at Culloden; she knelt beside him and let her tears fall into the jagged crevice that remained. Claire lay on her back while Jamie traced the pale stretch marks that remained on Claire’s stomach, his cheek pressed to her breastbone.

The afternoon light shone through the window and across the bed, warming the bedclothes around them more than the fire in the grate. When there were no clothes left to remove, none of time’s alterations left to note, Jamie eased Claire’s ankles apart and kissed the inside of her leg at the knee where it bent, his nose tickling the sensitive skin and sending a ripple of excitement through Claire’s flesh. He made his way up her thigh, trailing his nose along the same path her artery took, his breath warm against her skin, her legs opening for him as his shoulders pushed her knees apart. He buried his face in the thatch of hair between her legs, inhaling deeply and sighing as the scent of her overwhelmed his senses. She reached down and lodged her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp but he didn’t linger.

He kissed the silver threads left by Brianna’s kicking and tumbling in the womb, then paid court to each of Claire’s breasts while her legs wrapped themselves around his waist and her hands massaged his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the hard muscles as he nipped at her skin and made her gasp. They paused for a moment, their eyes locked before Claire reached down between them and slowly guided Jamie into her, both inhaling sharply and then sighing with relief as their bodies readjusted to a joining that was once second nature. Jamie bent his head and caught Claire’s mouth with his own, kissing her deeply as he began to move within her.

It was gentle and tentative at first, their bodies striving towards an old familiar rhythm—picking up the threads of a conversation abruptly cut short. But fifteen years of unanswered longing, of absence, roused a deeper need and hunger in them both. There were things that couldn’t find expression in words that their tangled bodies managed to articulate for them. Jamie’s thrusting became harder and sharper, penetrating deeper to Claire’s core as her nails clawed at his back and her hips rose to meet him, the impact shuddering through both their bodies. Wordless accusation and rebuttal gave way to silent apologies and forgiveness.

Claire felt the spasms start low in her belly and quiver out through her limbs. She clutched herself tight to Jamie, her thighs locking on his hips as she fought to contain the sensation. He trembled as her release triggered his own. She felt the familiar pulsing between her legs as he poured himself into her, felt his lips and tongue caressing her neck and taking one last taste of her. Angry red crescents marked his shoulder where she bit down to contain her cries of pleasure. She pressed healing kisses to them and wondered vaguely whether he would do the same later to the bruises that would blossom on her thighs in the coming hours.

For a while they did not move, reluctant to sever their restored connection, to disrupt the quiet of their reconciliation. But the afternoon sun faded fast so late in the year and the fire in the hearth dwindled with no fresh fuel. Jamie lifted himself from Claire and rearranged the blankets so they could huddle beneath them, pooling their warmth. 

They dozed a bit and Claire woke to find Jamie wrapping the same strand of gray hair around his finger.

“If you keep doing that I’m going to pluck it out,” she said quietly, batting his hand away.

He chuckled warmly and let the hair fall back, pale amongst the dark mass on her pillow. He bent and kissed her head about where the root for that gray hair would be, then drew back with a look half sad, half hopeful.

“We’re no quite who we were before, are we? We’ve both changed. But… whatever it is tha’s between us…”

“It’s still there,” Claire agreed with a nod and a satisfied smile. “Whatever that is… it hasn’t changed.”

“No,” he smiled and slipped his arm beneath her shoulders, “It hasn’t.” He turned her so that her back rested against his chest and her fingers reached up to entwine with his.

"I love you, Jamie," she whispered, melting into him. 

He draped his other arm over her side, further enveloping her in his warmth. “And I love you, Claire. We’ll find our way forward—the three of us.”

Claire tensed for a moment, catching Jamie’s attention.

“What is it, Sassenach?”

“Earlier… you asked about Brianna and whether she’d be happy here…”

It was Jamie’s turn to tense. “Ye dinna think she will be…” It was a statement of resignation rather than a question. The sorrow in his voice made Claire roll within his arms so that he was forced to look into her eyes.

“She _will_ be happy here, I’m sure of it. There’s… there’s just something…” Claire sighed, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts. “It’s not that I think she won’t be _happy_ here… I just don’t know that she’ll be able to… let things rest—I think… When we first came through she was… understandably angry with me.” Jamie wisely refrained from commenting. “I waited till Frank was away at a conference before bringing Brianna to the stones. I was a coward—stealing away with her like that… or vengeful after the lying and the secrets… He’ll know where we’ve gone—I left him a letter explaining—but I don’t think that will be enough for Brianna.”

“Ye think she’ll want to go back to him then?”

“Perhaps,” Claire admitted reluctantly. “There are other opportunities for her in the twentieth century that she can’t have here and I don’t know that I want her to miss them.”

“ _You_ think she should go back?” Jamie asked with confusion.

Claire shook her head. “I don’t know. I was able to go to medical school, to have a career as a surgeon for a time. It won’t be the same here but what I learned… I can still _help_ people the way I did then. But Brianna… her education—even the best that she can have here—will be nothing to what she _could_ have in the future. She could go to university and have a career of her own.”

“Does she take after you with the healing?” Jamie inquired.

Claire chuckled. “No. She went through a phase where she wanted to be a doctor but that passed quickly when she realized how many bodily fluids were involved—not one for blood or pus, our daughter.” Jamie shuddered at the thought himself and Claire laughed a little louder. “No, she’s better with puzzles and building things. And she took an interest in history, though she’s likely developed a deeper appreciation for certain aspects of it at this point.”

Jamie nodded but his attention had wandered. Claire ran a finger along his jaw, drawing his focus back to her.

“When we came through and she was… I promised her she could choose to go back if she wanted. I told her… if she gave it a chance—if she met you and got to know you, got to know the family she has here—if after seeing the life she can have here she still wants to go back… I told her I’d bring her back to the stones myself.”

“How long?” Jamie asked, his voice strangled.

“From what I’ve been able to glean about the stones since I went back… They are strongest on certain days—at certain times of the year,” Claire explained. “But it could be months… maybe a year or two… maybe she’ll be content here.”

“No, Sassenach. She’ll no forget him and how she left things with him,” Jamie said decidedly. “It’s what always bothered you, no? Leaving him wi’out warning like ye did. Ye’ll need to take her back to him but… some time with the two of ye—having a chance to ken what happened to ye and _knowing_ the lass… It’s more than I’d thought to have.”

Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes before kissing him. Pressing her forehead to his and sliding her hand down his chest before slipping it under his arm and round to the scars on his back, she drew him close. “I’m not going back—whatever else happens.”

“The lass will need ye,” he insisted. “If she goes—”

“ _If_ she goes it will be _her_ choice—just as staying will be mine. I don’t want to get too far ahead of ourselves but I do want to be clear on that point. I’m not going to let you talk me into leaving you again.”

Jamie seemed reluctant to accept her assertion but said nothing. “I’m no ready to let either of ye go yet,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Good.” Claire kissed him back then looked to the window behind him and the growing dim of late afternoon. “We should get dressed for dinner. There’ll be time for more of this,” she kissed him again, “later.”

Jamie rubbed his nose against hers before nodding. “Aye. My stomach willna thank me if I skip another meal,” he said as a grumbling erupted from the organ in question and they both laughed.


	10. A Bedtime Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first evening at Lallybroch with Jamie home.

Dinner was a boisterous affair with Jamie placed at the head of the table answering questions left and right—young Ian had quite a few having heard so many stories of his uncle over the years but having no memory of the man.

“Mam said ye hid wi’ me in a cupboard when Red Coats came the day I was born,” he declared, looking to the older man for confirmation and expansion on the tale—it was because of his uncle’s arrival that he was allowed to eat with the rest of the family rather than take his meal earlier so he could be readied for bed by the time his parents were through.

“Aye, though they’d likely no have come at all were it no for my interference,” Jamie admitted looking sheepishly first at Jenny and then Claire. “But I’ll tell ye more of that another time.”

“How did you escape your parole?” Fergus inquired. “You were not due to return for some years yet I did not think.”

“Service to the family that had care of me,” Jamie said vaguely. “They were happy enough with what I’d done for them that they petitioned on my behalf for my early release.”

“I would ha’ thought that if they liked the work ye were doing for them, they’d had done what they could to keep ye on longer, not work to get ye gone early,” Jenny remarked.

Jamie gave her a stern look and then glanced to the children further down the table so that she would understand it was a tale he considered inappropriate for the time and place. Jenny didn’t argue though she did return his look without hesitation—she would have the story from him sooner rather than later.

With everyone at the table so focused on Jamie, Brianna mostly hung back and let the others who knew him best question him—it wasn’t as though she could ask him the things on her mind with so many of them watching, anyway. She was both relieved to be able to watch him safely like that—just another set of eyes on him as he turned his attention to whomever he was answering; but she also felt that unexpected possessiveness again. Sharing him with her mother was one thing but sharing him with her cousins and aunt and uncle… In the face of the histories each of them already had with her father—even young Ian—she felt increasingly left out, adrift.

As the evening wore on, young Ian was sent off to bed followed by the twins. Janet threw a brief glance to Brianna as she pushed her chair in and headed towards the stairs.

“I should go up to,” Brianna remarked, shifting to rise. “I need to move my things from the other room.”

“I’ll come and help you,” Claire offered. Brianna noticed that as Claire stood, her hand held and squeezed Jamie’s, reluctant to release it.

“I should be fine on my—” Brianna began to protest.

“Nonsense,” Claire insisted, following Brianna out of the room. “I’m… sorry you weren’t able to move your things earlier,” Claire apologized awkwardly as they climbed the stairs.

“I wouldn’t have done it earlier anyway,” Brianna said, flushing and ignoring the unspoken implications. “I was busy with my lessons.”

As they reached the door, Brianna pushed inside and headed straight for the trunk where the clothes that had been found and altered to fit her were stored beside her mother’s things—she avoided looking about the room to see where Jamie’s things had been stacked on a chair or the foot of the bed, the maids having pulled them from wherever Jenny had stashed them for the last seven years. Brianna began pulling her extra shift, stockings, skirts, and petticoats from the trunk before realizing that there was nowhere for her to put them—she hadn’t thought of whether there was another trunk somewhere she could use to store the few things she’d acquired in the last few weeks.

Claire moved to the corner of the room and pulled out a sizeable woven basket. “You should be able to fit most of your things in here for now,” she explained, setting it on one of the chairs near the hearth.

“It’s not as though I have a lot of stuff I need to store,” Brianna pointed out, laying her things in the basket one at a time to be sure they would all fit.

Claire pressed her lips together before crossing to Brianna and sliding an arm around her shoulders. She waited until Brianna put the rest of what she held into the basket then pulled her daughter to her chest, wrapping her second arm around the young teen.

“It hasn’t been what you expected, has it,” Claire said quietly. “One of the things that we might have had if we’d gone to find him while he was on parole was a bit of privacy with him.”

Brianna huffed in what might be considered a laugh. “I’m supposed to be his daughter but everyone else knows more about him than I do.”

“You’ll get there,” Claire assured her. “We’ll find a new balance—life always does.”

Brianna disappeared with the basket piled with her clothes and things. “I’ll be back to get the rest.”

Claire stood in front of the table and mirror and began pulling the pins from her hair, dropping them onto the tabletop with a light pinging sound. Then she slipped her fingers into the mass of hair on her head and began to massage her scalp. It had been an unexpectedly overwhelming day with Jamie’s return and it was tempting to just languish in the relief of having him home, of having their family all together. But even as she and Jamie found their way back into the old habits of their marriage, they needed to figure out how to bring Brianna into it all—especially if they hoped to give her reason enough to stay with them. They needed time together—alone together just the three of them. Except that there were people everywhere at Lallybroch and Jamie would undoubtedly find himself dragged into the responsibilities of the estate, though it was no longer his.

“What are ye thinking so hard on, Sassenach?” Jamie asked coming up behind her and laying his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs began to work into the knots of muscle along her shoulder blades.

“I was thinking… it would be nice for the three of us to have some time together,” she admitted quietly. “And also how unlikely that is here at Lallybroch with everything that’s going on.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in his reflection.

“Aye. It’s a bustling place again. Not that it wasna bustling when I was here last,” he amended. “But the feeling of the place—the mood—is lighter than before when the Red Coats were a larger threat. Ian was telling me they’ve no had any by in near a year.”

“People are finally putting their lives back together,” she remarked, “setting aside fear.”

“Of course,” Jamie said as he reached down to the table for her hairbrush, “could just be that it seems lighter here now cause ye’re here again. Lallybroch’s no the same wi’out ye.” He slid the backs of his fingers along her jaw before taking hold of a section of her curls and gently applying her brush to them. “I’ve… There’s something I ken ye’ll be wanting to see—though ye’ll be too polite to ask, I’m sure. If… if ye think the lass—”

“If you think the lass what?” Brianna asked, stepping further into the room. “Oh, I uh… I should have… knocked or walked louder or something,” she apologized.

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Claire said as she rose from her seat. “Why don’t you come join us here by the fire for a bit,” she suggested taking Jamie’s hand and leading him over to one of the two stuffed chairs. She pulled the chair from the dressing table and set it between the other two.

Brianna didn’t object but she certainly didn’t seem entirely comfortable as she took the other stuffed chair.

“Now, what was it you thought I’d want to see?” Claire prodded Jamie.

“Uh,” Jamie hesitated looking up at Brianna through his eyelashes. “I thought… That is… It’s not that I _want_ to take ye there… but I thought ye’d want… to see the cave.”

Claire felt the blood leave her face but nodded and reached out to rest her hand on Jamie’s arm. He reached across with his other arm and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. It seemed to help calm him.

“You’re right about that,” she told him. “The thought of you in there all alone…”

“Well, I was by myself, sure enough, but I wasna really alone,” Jamie responded. “I had you there—both of ye. I could talk to ye and I’d read, imagining I was reading to you,” he nodded to Brianna. “Sometimes I’d just lie there, making a list all the things I thought ye ought to know and how I’d ha’ gone about teaching them to ye.”

“Like what?” Brianna asked quietly.

Jamie took a deep breath. “I’d have told ye the fairy stories when ye were a wee bairn—waterhorses and kelpies and selkies, changlings and the auld folk. Ye’d have learned a bit of cooking and mending—no from yer mother, though as she’s a pitiful hand with either unless it’s to fix a person up somehow,” he teased Claire lightly till she stuck out her jaw and fought a smile off while glaring at him. He raised their joined hands to his lips, his smile bright in his eyes as he drank in the sight of her. Blinking and looking down again, he continued. “I’d have taught ye to ride,” he declared with pride. “Yer mam would ha’ made a fuss but I’d have had ye up on a saddle wi’ me by the time ye could walk. And I’d have taught ye to hunt—to track at the verra least—and fish. Ye’d be able to live off the land should ye need to.”

“You… you can still… I mean… I wouldn’t mind learning some of that,” Brianna murmured. “I know it’s getting to be winter now…”

“When the weather warms,” Jamie promised with a smile. “Though, there’ll be tracks in the snow from time to time. It’s an easy way to learn the animals’ prints. And I can work wi’ ye in the barn if ye like. It’s no so cold in there wi’ all the animals’ heat.”

“Then we’ll start with the cave,” Claire suggested. “Tomorrow. Mrs. Crook can fix a lunch for us.”

Jamie looked to Brianna who gave a slight nod to the plan before starting to rise. “Janet will be—”

“What d’ye have there?” Jamie asked, reaching over and catching the book as it fell from her pile.

“Oh, uh… Uncle Ian said I could borrow from your library,” she explained, flushing again. “I finished _Gulliver’s Travels_ last week and swapped it for that.”

“ _Robinson Crusoe_ is a favorite of mine,” Jamie said as he ran a hand over the cover before balancing the book in his palm and letting it fall open as it would, inevitably finding one of his favorite passages—he’d read through it often enough for the spine to weaken considerably in that spot. A scattering of flattened flowers clung to the page.

“There are a bunch of pages with flowers like that but Mama said it wasn’t her that put them there,” Brianna said, stepping forward and reaching down to take one of the flowers between her fingers. Holding it up in front of fire, the light passed through the almost completely transparent petals.

“She didna put them there; I did,” Jamie admitted sliding the remaining flowers about on the page. “They grew near the cave and made me think of you, Sassenach, wi’ all yer wee herbs and things.” He looked up to where she watched him. “I thought ye might ken what they were and if they had other uses. No that I ever thought I’d get the chance to ask ye.”

“Scottish primrose,” Claire said, “but I don’t know of any medicinal use for them. They are beautiful, though.”

He turned back to the page and tilted it so that the flowers slid down into his palm. “They’re more of them scattered in those books in the library—these and a few other ones I didna ken what they were. There were so many things I found myself wanting to ask ye. No having ye there to talk to… that was one of the hardest parts. I’d talk aloud to you as though ye might answer me. Read aloud of a time too.”

“Would you?” Brianna asked. “Read aloud. I haven’t gotten very far if you want to start from the beginning.” She sat back down, clutching the rest of her things to her chest as though they were a pillow.

Jamie nodded warmly, his eyes shining in the light of the fire. Claire went and fetched the hairbrush from the table and continued to work on brushing through her hair as Jamie carefully laid the flowers back on their page before turning to the front of the book once more. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

“I was born in the year…”


	11. Past Grateful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie, Claire, and Brianna spend time alone together discussing the intervening years and Brianna's birthday comes up.

The trickiest part of getting away the next day just the three of them was coaxing young Ian to stay behind.

“But I want to see the cave too,” he whined to Brianna with a clear sense of betrayal in his voice. It was Fergus who stepped in.

“Come lad,” Fergus said as he adjusted the straps on his brace. “I have tasks that will require someone of precisely your stature and skills in order to accomplish. I really cannot do it without you.”

Young Ian looked at Fergus dubiously, his eyes focused on the empty space at the end of the brace where Fergus had yet to select and affix the attachment he would need for the day. Fergus had both his stuffed hand and his more functional though less aesthetically pleasing hook on a nearby table.

“And… what would they be?” the boy asked. Fergus was running a finger along the curve of the hook, testing the sharpness against the tip of his finger.

“Well… there are traps in the woods that need to be checked and depending on what they catch and how much they fight, the lines become tangled in the branches. I cannot climb easily with only one hand and you are properly agile. Then there is the hayloft in the barn. It needs a new ladder to be made but that will not be ready for another few days. If you stand atop my shoulders, however—you are strong enough to pull yourself up and then carry a bale of hay, are you not? Perhaps I should see if Michael can—”

“No!” young Ian cried jumping to his feet. “I can do it, I can do it!”

Fergus’ hand settled on the hook and held it out for the boy to help him in affixing it. While young Ian was thoroughly distracted, Brianna, Jamie, and Claire slipped out of the house through the kitchen. Claire grabbed the small pack with food for their midday meal on her way out. Jamie took her hand and slipped it through his arm then held his other elbow out for Brianna to take as he led his ladies across the field toward the woods.

“How long did you spend in the cave?” Brianna asked as they walked.

“Well, it was a while before I was recovered enough to convince Jenny I could leave the priest’s hole,” Jamie explained. “That was worse than the cave as I couldna see anything—no even my own hand in front of my face. But it did have the feeling of being near to everyone and everything at Lallybroch. The cave was more… I was more decidedly separate… on my own. It was hard the first two weeks but returning to the house and the priest’s hole—even for a single night… It grew easier and easier after that to simply be alone with my thoughts… with my memories… with my dreams of the two of ye.”

As they entered the woods, the terrain forced them to let go of one another. Jamie took the pack from Claire so she could hold her skirts out of the way in order not to trip on them.

“Then it was going back to Lallybroch that was difficult. I wanted it but adjusting first to solitude and then to company… back and forth…” He shook his head at the memory. “It was a dangerous time wi’ the Redcoats all about so I stayed away for longer stretches. Ian was taken into custody at one point—when Jenny was carrying young Ian—and after he was born with the… difficulties… then… It was safer for everyone if I wasna so close at all—and with the prospect of the reward money from turning me in…” He shrugged. “That was… seven years, I think, after Culloden.”

“I was just starting school,” Brianna said quietly after running through the calculation herself.

“You said Jenny had a difficult birth with Ian?” Claire asked, shifting the subject a bit as the trees began to thin and the ground became rockier, tilting upwards.

“Wasna the birth that was difficult exactly—not medically speaking,” Jamie clarified. “He was born wi’out incident but I… With Ian gone I thought she ought to have me there to do… I dinna ken now what I was thinking. I just didna want to feel she was alone I suppose—not wi’ a house already full of weans. And after they lost Caitlin—the Redcoats came just before her birth and the stress of it brought the wee lass too early. Of course… there wasna anything I could truly _do_ for her and…” He was struggling to find the words to explain the guilt and embarrassment he felt over the incident. Eager to dismiss his foolishness he hurriedly said, “I let superstition get the better of me and it brought the Redcoats down on the house while I was up wi’ Jenny and wee Ian. There was naught to do to avoid encountering them but for me to hop into the armoire wi’ no time to hand the bairn back. It was dumb luck they didna search when the saw Jenny there in childbed wi’ no child about. Wee Jamie thought things had gone awry like they did when Jenny bore Caitlin and carried on—the lad managed to guilt them into leaving.”

“No wonder the boy worships you,” Claire commented with a smile. “You’re behind his first and most exciting adventure and he wants more.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “If a grown man near pissing himself while stuffed in a cupboard can be called an adventure,” he scoffed but caught sight of Brianna’s amused expression and felt heat rise in his face. He cleared his throat and nodded ahead. “Ye can see the cave from here,” he announced watching Brianna’s amusement shift to curiosity as she turned to look up the rocky incline. “If ye ken where to look,” he amended.

They watched him ascend the last bit and disappear into what looked like a shadow cast by a nearby tree but proved to be the mouth of the cave. When his head poked out again and he gave a smile and a wave, they clambered up after him.

“It’s a good vantage for hunting stag,” he explained as they glanced down over the ledge. “That’s what it was used for in my father’s time. Ye canna be seen unless ye ken it’s here and where to look.”

“Which the Redcoats didn’t,” Brianna added with a smile as she jumped down and into the cave.

Jamie helped Claire down and in but sat down at the opening himself. It wasn’t large enough to fit the three of them—not with his size.

“No, they didna find me till I wanted them to,” Jamie admitted, peering down into the darkness to watch Claire and Brianna explore the space.

Brianna ran her hands along the stone walls, stretching her arms out to gauge the span. Claire’s fingers rested against the ceiling, her posture stiff as she bent to avoid striking her head.

“It’s… gloomy,” Claire remarked disheartened, “to think of you having to stay concealed here alone.” She moved back to the light of the entrance where Jamie gave her a hand out to sit beside him on the outcropping.

“It was… the solitude was better sometimes than being watched and fussed over,” he responded carefully.

Brianna was still getting a feel for the dimensions of the cave but turned to the mouth where Jamie had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. The sunlight filtered they were high enough that there wasn’t much foliage to block the sunlight from reaching the cave itself.

“I can imagine Auntie Jenny must’ve been concerned. She said you nearly died of the infection in your leg.”

“Aye, there was that. But… Jenny was concerned about…” He looked away, reluctant to dwell on the pain of losing Claire when she and the child he’d yearned for were there with him. “I couldna tell Jenny the truth of things so I couldna put her properly at ease. It was freer here where there was no one to lie to or pretend for.”

“That’s what you were talking about then,” Claire said quietly. “When you talked about going back and forth between here and the house. You had to put on a mask.”

“Perhaps,” Jamie nodded, “though… it was more like I was tucking ye away within me where ye’d be safe. When I was here… ye were free to come to me and keep me company in a way that…” He shook his head unable to find the words.

But Claire understood. “It’s a strain—keeping it bottled like that. Every so often it would just… burst forth.”

Brianna turned to her mother. “I don’t… remember… Was… Did you ever have that happen when I was around?” The note of fear in her voice was impossible to miss.

“You made it easier,” Claire assured her. “I couldn’t tell you but from the moment you were born I stopped feeling like I was alone. It was bottled up but I could at least see through the glass again.”

At that Brianna relaxed a bit.

“Fourteen,” Jamie said with quiet awe. “I canna believe it’s been so long… and I’ve missed so much.” He looked down to where Claire had woven her fingers through his.

There was an awkward breath before Claire asked, “Bree, did I ever tell you about the night you were born?”

Brianna’s eyes widened momentarily. “I know you said I was born in the middle of the night,” she answered, to which Claire nodded. “I know Daddy mentioned that you were sick of being pregnant and did everything you could to induce labor… and then I just remember him talking about the time I spat up on the students’ papers when he was correcting.”

Claire and Jamie chuckled.

“It was hard those last weeks. I told you about… Faith,” Claire stumbled over her first daughter’s name, “and what happened… And… I don’t know what I was those last few weeks. I wanted you to be all right for Jamie’s sake,” she glanced at him hesitantly, “but… if something were to happen to you for whatever reason… I wasn’t… I wasn’t _scared_ of something going wrong the way I probably should have been. I still felt… lost… disconnected.”

She felt Jamie’s hold on her tighten reflexively and watched Brianna blink and look away.

“Whatever happened, I wanted to be awake when it did so I refused to let them put me under. And the doctors were intrigued by the fact that you were born with a caul—”

“She was?” Jamie interjected, surprised.

“What’s that?” Brianna asked confused.

“It’s when a child is born with the amniotic membrane intact,” Claire explained. “It covered your face for a moment and gave the doctor and nurses something to talk about.”

“It’s a lucky thing to be born like that,” Jamie added with an insistence and expression that made Brianna flush as she smiled.

“I remember lying back on the pillow and hearing them chatter about it and trying to make myself heard,” Claire continued, slipping into the memory. “I knew that they would go to fetch Frank once the baby was cleaned up and I wanted—I needed—to be sure I named it right. As soon as I heard them say it was a girl I started calling to her—started saying the name Brianna.”

A chill ran down Brianna’s spine as her mother’s eyes fixed on her instead of on what she saw in her mind’s eye.

“You cried then, like you knew it was your name. They wrapped you in a blanket and brought you to me and I was still saying your name, over and over until you were in my arms and you stopped crying. The nurse helped with the birth certificate while the doctor went to find Frank.” Claire turned to Jamie then. “I had to be sure she had the right name.” Jamie kissed her temple and then rested his head atop hers, his breath teasing the curls that had broken loose.

“It was something Frank and I hadn’t discussed before that,” Claire confessed. “We bought the things you’re supposed to buy but we never talked about the baby itself and what that would be like. And then you were there and things fell into place. He never asked about the name I gave you or fought me on it, never remarked on your looks. He was taken with you from the first and nothing else mattered… not to him.”

Claire pulled Jamie’s hand forward with her own then loosened her grip so she could trail her fingertips over his palm.

“I would talk to you at night when I was up nursing Bree. I would ask about whether you’d been a colicky baby or I’d tell you about how she’d discovered she could fit her foot in her mouth and had spent the whole day chewing on her toes,” Claire said with a laugh. “I could almost hear you cracking jokes back at me and there were a few times when I swear, Brianna, that you smiled or laughed like you’d heard him too. That was when I felt freest… and missed you most; those moments when I knew how proud and happy you would be if you were there.”

“My heart was with the both of ye though by body wasna there,” he assured her. “There wasna a day that passed that didna start with a prayer for the pair of ye, nor end so as well. And while I wasna there for yer birth nor yer first birthday, Brianna, I’m past grateful to have the chance to see yer fourteenth.”

Brianna smiled up at him, the morning light shining off the wetness in her eyes. “I’m grateful too,” she told him but looked down and drew a shaking breath as he turned to retrieve their pack of food for distribution.

* * *

Brianna missed Frank. It was something she was able to put out of mind most of the time but it hit her in unexpected waves. The awkwardness with Jamie was beginning to fade. Her mother hadn’t been kidding about the two of them being alike and it was a truth that helped ease them into their latest holding pattern of increasing familiarity but they weren’t quite _there_ yet—wherever that was. He was trying–– _she_ was trying––and they would get there but there was no way to know _when_ that would happen.

She had thought the longing for Frank would have been worst on her birthday but the day was so surreal in and of itself that she had been numb to the thought of Frank and her memories of the way she’d celebrated her birthdays in the past—those had come in the hours and days following the birthday itself.

Jamie came upon her in the middle of one of those pangs. She was staring at the page of a book she was supposed to be studying but she wasn’t reading it; she was wondering whether Frank had continued teaching at the university or whether he’d taken a leave of absence when he’d discovered them gone and Claire’s letter explaining everything. Was he distracting himself by preparing for finals? Was he trying to find them—to find _her_ —in his history books to see if she was all right?

Jamie cleared his throat awkwardly, capturing her attention.

“I… There’s something I was wanting to show ye in the barn,” he told her with his fingers tapping rapidly against his thigh. “If ye dinna mind settin’ that aside… I’d like to show ye now.”

“You had mentioned you wanted to teach me the proper way to ride…” she remarked by way of a guess as she closed the book and stood to follow him out.

“Oh, no––it’s nothing like that.”

But horses were all she saw and smelled when they stepped into the comforting warmth of the barn after the brisk walk through the yard. He took her by her shoulders and stood her in the middle of the more open area near the barn entrance, the area they generally used for saddling the horses or turning them about to back them into their stalls.

“Stay right there…” he said before disappearing down the row to an empty stall at the end.

“Did you buy me a pony?” she joked then bit her lip––it was a farm and little girls wanting ponies for their birthdays probably wasn’t a thing yet, and if it was, probably wasn’t considered so ridiculous or impractical a request or gift.

Thankfully, Jamie didn’t appear to have heard her––he was too busy straining to carry something from the empty stall. It appeared to be a large box or chest of some sort. He set it on the hay and dirt in front of her then wiped at his brow and took a step back.

“Go on, then,” he told her when she looked up at him. “It’s yers.”

She ran her hand over the top trying to make out what it was that had been carved into the lid.

“The strawberry plant and berries, ye ken,” he explained. “It’s where the Fraser name comes from— _fraises_.”

There was a small cluster of three berries with a few leaves and vines in the center as well as additional leaves and vines along the edges with a single berry at the corners. The sides of the trunk were simpler but just as sturdy in their construction. She opened the box—the hinges moved smoothly with no resistance. It smelled wonderful—some kind of pine maybe? No—it was a hardwood, so it had to be oak or maybe ash.

“It’s for yer things,” Jamie continued talking to fill the silence. “Ye were sharing wi’ yer mother when ye shared the room but since ye’re in a room wi’ Janet now… I thought ye ought to have a chest of yer own. It should ha’ been for yer birthday—or Claire suggested I save it to give ye at Christmas—but I thought ye might be needing it sooner than that… Do ye… do ye like it?”

She closed the lid and rounded the trunk to throw her arms around his neck.

“Of course I like it,” she said in a low voice. It was the first real gift he’d given her—unless she counted him giving her mother to her, sending her through the stones so that Brianna would be born into a safer world. “Thank you, Da,” she whispered before kissing his cheek and burying her face in his neck.

She could feel the heat rise in his face at her gesture. He cleared his throat and started rambling.

“I asked yer mam if she thought ye’d like it—soon as I saw ye didna have a place to keep yer things—and I worked to finish it quick as I could but there was no finishing in time for yer birthday,” he said again.

“I love it, Da,” Brianna repeated, taking comfort in the strength and warmth of her father’s arms.

It was still true that she missed Frank from time to time but the thought of trading one father for the other was becoming increasingly difficult to contemplate. She knew that if Frank had seen that she needed a trunk or some other place to keep her things, he too would have ensured she had one—but she doubted he would have thought to _make_ her one, and not simply because she didn’t think he would have managed (he could have figured something out). He would have wanted her to have the best there was—top of the line. And yet what she loved so much about the trunk Jamie had made for her was that it _had_ been made with his own two hands, that he’d taken the time to personalize it by carving the strawberries––which couldn’t have been easy with his stiff fingers—and they told her more about herself, about her family’s history.

She let her father go with a little sigh. “Are you going to need help carrying it into the house and up the stairs?” she asked with a chuckle. It was heavy. “I can take this end and you can take the other,” she suggested.

He nodded and grinned, pleased with the success of his gift.

“Aye, and when we’ve got it into place, ye’ll have to call yer mother to see it.”

“She hasn’t seen it?”

“I wouldna let her,” he told Brianna. “I was afraid if I let her see I would get distracted wi’ asking her opinions of things. Besides, once I started I didna want to stop till it was through. If ye’d… If I’d been wi’ her at the time I’d ha’ made a cradle for ye when ye were born. This… this’ll have to do for that instead.”

Another wave of tenderness flooded Brianna’s veins.

“I’ve never had anyone who would make things like that for me before,” she said quietly.

“Well, ye do now,” he answered matter-of-factly before the moment could turn too serious. “Come then. Let’s get this inside so ye can put it to proper use.”

  
 


	12. The Holly and the Ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna faces an unfamiliar holiday season as Lallybroch prepares for Christmas and Hogmanay festivities.

Life at Lallybroch had begun settling into a comfortable pattern in the days and weeks following Jamie’s unexpected return from Helwater—more so than it had during the fortnight following Claire and Brianna’s arrival prior to that. As far as Claire could tell—and as far as she could glean from Jamie and Brianna separately—they seemed to be making progress in navigating their own growing relationship. She didn’t want to press either too hard and had to content herself with what she was able to witness herself. Brianna had been thrilled with the trunk Jamie made her and had quizzed her mother about it later—to see how much of it had been her idea, she suspected. And both Jamie and Brianna appeared to enjoy spending some time each evening with the three of them gathered together in Jamie and Claire’s room to read a few chapters from one of the books from the library downstairs.

But with Christmas and Hogmanay quickly approaching, Claire knew that the small routines and tenuous bonds would be tested. It was only natural that Brianna would miss Frank at such a time of year along with all of the traditions they’d had back in Boston. Christmas at Lallybroch would be alien in comparison and even Claire had difficulty understanding everything that went into Hogmanay in Scotland.

Jamie set the copy of _Pamela_ on the mantle as Claire prepared for bed after Brianna had slipped away to her room for the night. Claire had suggested Jamie read something like _Don Quixote_ when they finished _Robinson Crusoe_ but he had thought _Pamela_ more suitable arguing that it would be more interesting for Brianna since the titular Pamela was closer to Brianna’s age.

“How long has it been since you last read it?” she’d asked of him.

“I dinna ken,” he’d admitted.

“And how much of it do you remember?”

“I recall finding it amusing,” he informed her. “And I think the lass will too.”

So Claire held her tongue and they had started the new novel. It was quickly clear that it would take a while for them to get through it but Claire had to concede that—though not in the way he had intended—his selection _had_ been a wise choice. _Pamela_ inspired more discussion than quiet reflection but proved to be a text that gave both father and daughter a foothold for broaching the subject of Brianna’s life and education in the twentieth century in comparison to the portrait of virtuous young-womanhood as laid out by Samuel Richardson.

“It wasna the reaction I was expecting,” Jamie admitted as he sat to remove his boots, “but it certainly loosened her tongue.”

“I don’t recall much of it myself,” Claire admitted, “but I expect she’ll be thoroughly amused by the part with the cows when we reach it. Do you have any of the responses to it in your library? I think Bree would find those interesting though perhaps not something she would wish to read aloud with her parents,” Claire chuckled.

“Ye mean that mockery what Fielding wrote?” Jamie asked with a raised brow. “I dinna want to think ye might mean to be giving anything Haywood wrote to the lass—she’s just fourteen.”

Claire laughed. “If you have anything by Haywood in that library, I think it’s safe to say that she’ll find it—if her cousins haven’t already told her about it.”

Jamie flushed and began muttering in the Gáidhlig as he turned his attention to his breeks.

Claire was waiting under the covers as he smoored the fire before joining her. As soon as Jamie was beside her, she slipped under his arm and rested against his chest, closing her eyes and sighing with relief.

“D’ye think she minds it terribly?” Jamie asked quietly as his fingers lightly rubbed against Claire’s shoulder blades. “Being in such a different world to the one she kent, I mean. I ken ye’ve told me about the ways its different for women before… but listening to Brianna—”

“She did have a lot to say tonight,” Claire remarked, “and I’m sure she misses it… but for more reasons than just that.”

Jamie’s fingers stopped but Claire could almost feel the ghost of them still tracing over her skin and completing the repeating pattern he’d been making.

“Frank,” he said with resignation and frustration.

“With the holiday coming up,” Claire said quietly, “it’s only natural for her to miss him. There were… traditions we had—the three of us—and even if they weren’t much they were something.”

“Can we no make our own traditions,” Jamie muttered quietly.

“Well, that’s just it,” Claire told him gently. “I was thinking that there might be a way to… rework some of the traditions Bree’s used to. We won’t be able to do much as far as decorating for the holiday and the main celebration in the house will be the party Jenny wants to throw for the tenants for Hogmanay but… I do have something in mind that we could do for Christmas Eve.”

“And it’s no what Frank and ye did for her?”

“Not exactly. We would go back and forth telling her a classic Christmas story—well… it _will_ be a classic but it won’t be written for almost a hundred years yet…”

“So ye have a different tale in mind,” Jamie guessed. Claire could still feel the jealous tension in him. “It’ll be _Frank’s_ story in her eyes.”

“There is a different one I know that she’ll recognize and appreciate—one I think _you_ might find amusing too,” she assured him pressing her breasts into his side and rubbing his stomach, letting her hand drift lower and lower.

“Do I get to hear this story now or will ye make me wait for it?” His voice was lighter as he caught her hand and brought it lower still, pressing himself into her palm.

“Oh, you’re going to wait for it,” she teased as she began to stroke him playfully. “There are a few other ideas I had in mind…”

“Later, Sassenach,” he gasped, reaching over and pulling her against him while his mouth sought hers in the dim warmth of their bed.

* * *

Jenny roped everyone on the estate into helping prepare for the Hogmanay celebrations so in the days before Christmas, Brianna and Janet were helping Claire in the stillroom. They’d gathered baskets full of holly—or Christ’s thorn, as Jenny had called it—to be twisted up into wreaths to decorate the hall. Claire set some leaves aside to distill into an emetic for emergencies and advised the girls to be especially careful disposing of the berries so none of the younger children or small animals could get at them and eat them.

Brianna marveled at the way her younger cousin’s fingers maneuvered around the thorny leaves to weave the branches together into a ring.

“Do you do this every year for the holidays?” she asked, remembering the smell of the balsam fir boughs that they bought already twisted and held into place with wires and a velvety red ribbon. It would hang on their door from the first Sunday of Advent through Epiphany and it was Brianna’s job to sweep the floor of the needles that began to drop after about two weeks. Their tree the previous year had been one of the newer aluminum concoctions—Frank had insisted on trying it since none of them was around enough to remember to water the poor things each year—but they had all agreed that it just wasn’t the same and had planned to go back to having a fresh cut tree the next year… what would have been _this_ Christmas.

“We usually do a bit of something special for Hogmanay,” Janet told them, “but no to this degree. Mam wants to celebrate wi’ all the tenants cause Uncle Jamie—and yerselves, of course—are here.”

Brianna glanced to her mother who caught a glimpse of her rising anxiety.

“Mam’s said Michael and I can stay up for the firstfoot this year, but Ian must be off to bed by ten,” Janet continued with the quiet glee of a privileged older sister.

“Janet,” Claire interrupted her niece’s train of thought, “do you think you could head out and fetch some long strands of ivy to weave in with this? I think it will help hold them together a bit more surely.”

Janet’s gaze flicked between Claire and Brianna—it made Claire start momentarily in its resemblance to Jenny’s shrewd and evaluative gaze—but she ultimately nodded, grabbed Claire’s basket from the counter, and slipped outside to leave mother and daughter alone.

“Breathe, Bree,” Claire advised her. “It won’t be so bad meeting everyone. Lots of food, drink, music, and dancing will put everyone in a good mood.”

“It’s the dancing that I’m worried about,” Brianna confessed quietly.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” Claire reminded her.

“Back home, maybe,” the teenager pointed out. “But I don’t know any of the music they’ll play and I’m guessing that what I consider dancing is probably not the same as what they’ll be expecting.”

“Oh,” Claire said with the dawning realization of her daughter’s well-founded anxieties. “You… are right about that. We’ll… we’ll figure something out. It’s still more than a week away.”

They worked quietly for another few minutes before Brianna spoke up again.

“You… you really think that there’ll be a lot of people who want to meet me?”

Claire regretted having said anything. “Yes. Your father was the laird of the estate before… well, before Culloden. He was a good laird to them and they won’t have forgotten all he did for them—even while he was hiding in that cave. It was a shock to many of them when he showed up having married me. It only makes sense that they would be intrigued again now that he’s returned and you and I are here as well. You saw what it was like for your aunt and uncle when we arrived—they all thought I’d been dead for fifteen years and I don’t know that he’d ever told Jenny or Ian that I was pregnant when I… when I was lost to him.”

Brianna absorbed the information in silence.

Claire sighed. “Life would have been very different if I’d stayed and you were born here.”

“Do you think he still would have gone to that cave?”

“I think so,” Claire said after a moment. She paused in her work on the wreath in her hands letting it rest on the worktable. “He would have been torn, wanting to be here with us but wanting to be as far from us to keep from putting us in danger. That’s precisely the sort of thing he would never be able to forgive himself for. Of course, I _never_ would have allowed him to turn himself in for the reward money.” There was an edge to her voice that suggested to Brianna that it was an opinion her mother had expressed quite forcefully once or twice before.

“But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have been caught,” Brianna pointed out.

“True. But growing up here as the laird’s daughter…”

“It would have been different,” Brianna said in a tone that cut off the conversation. Claire took the hint and went back to working on the wreath. Much as Brianna was willing to think about what it might have been like to grow up around Jamie—and to see her mother the way she had the last few weeks, smiling at the smallest things and more comfortably in command of herself and those around her—Brianna couldn’t imagine her childhood without Frank. It hadn’t been a very happy time for her mother—she could see that now—but _she_ had been happy. Would she have been as happy if she’d grown up at Lallybroch with the ever-present fear of being raided by Redcoats, rarely seeing Jamie because it was too dangerous for him and for them?

“Will this be enough, Auntie Claire?” Janet asked as she returned to the stillroom with a basket full of ivy vines.

“That will be perfect,” Claire assured her, reaching out to take a vine and trimming it into more manageable segments.

* * *

When Brianna slipped upstairs to join her parents for what had become their nightly reading sessions, she had yet to quell the quiet anxiety in her stomach that grew with each day that brought them closer to Christmas and Hogmanay.

Normally she heard the subdued sounds of her parents’ conversation as she approached the door before knocking and entering, but that evening the sounds louder and accompanied by unfamiliar scrapes and thuds. They didn’t respond to her knock so she gently eased the door open before risking a peek.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Claire warned Jamie as he lifted the dressing table and shuffled it further along the wall, trapping himself between the table and Claire’s side of the bed. Her hairbrushes and bottles of creams and ointments had been laid out on the bed where there was no risk of them being knocked to the ground and broken. The chairs they usually sat upon in front of the fire had been moved to a corner of the room and artfully stacked. The trunk was gone from the foot of the bed and instead rested along Jamie’s side of the bed leaving only the worn rug on the floor in front of the hearth.

“Don’t forget the screen,” Claire motioned to Jamie who used it to shield them from the open flames. “We don’t want to risk out skirts catching.”

“What’s… all… this?” Brianna asked as she pushed into the room—the door knocked against the trunk and refused to open further.

“We’re gonna do what we can to prepare ye for Hogmanay,” Jamie told her with a grin. “Though, it willna be easy in so small a space.”

“You’re going to teach me how to dance?” Brianna asked, surprised. “But… we don’t have any music.”

“We dinna need music,” Jamie explained.

“And he can’t hear it anyway, so it wouldn’t make much difference if we did,” Claire chimed in.

“Proper dancing is about form and counting,” Jamie ignored Claire’s teasing. He stepped up to her and bowed, taking her hand and leading her to the center of the small cleared space. “When we danced at Versailles,” he said, his eyes fixed on Claire as he trusted Brianna to pay attention, “there was a bit more ceremony than ye’ll see for Hogmanay—and what form there might be will disappear as folk get drunk.”

He guided Claire through the steps. She tripped over her feet once or twice and cursed her poor memory. “I used to be able to do this,” she assured Brianna before counting aloud. Soon they fell into a predictable rhythm and pattern to their steps. Brianna’s eyes were trained on the floor and the placement of their feet.

“This is more what ye’ll see folk tryin’ hereabouts,” Jamie said as he and Claire seemed to circle each other. “Ye’ll want to keep yer awareness on yer partner… but also watch where the other couples are in the line.”

“I feel like you should draw me a diagram,” Brianna remarked only half-joking.

“Why don’t you try switching with me?” Claire suggested. “It’ll be easier if you can get a feel for the movements yourself.”

Swallowing, Brianna stepped up and took her mother’s place opposite her father. She saw a little of his small smile of encouragement before ducking her head to watch her feet. Claire chanted the count as Jamie slowly guided Brianna through the steps. She stepped on his foot four times before she felt his finger lifting her chin.

“Look up here, no down there,” he advised. “Yer feet will find the way but wi’ yer head lookin’ down like that ye’re throwin’ off yer posture—that’s what’s makin’ ye misstep.”

They started again from the beginning and she only stepped on him three times so they decided to consider it an improvement. After running through the steps of the dance a few more times, they decided to take a break.

“And that’s only _one_ of the dances, isn’t it,” Brianna observed.

“We’ll work wi’ ye on learning more between now and Hogmanay if it will make ye feel better,” Jamie promised. “But…” he turned to Claire, “I kent ye’d have different music and dances in yer time, Sassenach, but are they really so _verra_ different?”

She nodded. “You should have seen some of the dancing that went on during the war—when we were given leave to run off to the dance halls and enjoy ourselves that way.” She was perched on the foot of the bed and he sat on the floor, his head resting against her thigh as she played with his hair.

“Show me,” he requested.

Claire’s mouth quirked in consideration for a moment then she rose, moved to take Brianna by the hand, and pulled her back to the center of the room. Her head bobbed and her foot tapped a bit to help set the faster beat for Brianna. It only took a few moments for Brianna to recognize the song from the beat and for a smile to bloom across her face as she joined in.

They didn’t bother singing but did their best to hum and keep time as they moved together and away from each other, their hands clasped together as they started to rotate and kick their legs. Their skirts got in the way but the rhythm and quick movement as they spun each other passing under their joined hands, rocking back and forth, soon led to laughter. When they were breathless and in danger of falling into the screen blocking the fire, they turned their attention to Jamie who had his arms crossed over his chest but wore a thoroughly amused expression on his face.

“What do they call that then?”

“It depends on where you are and how old you are, I suppose,” Claire said breathing heavily and slipping her hand between his crossed arms so that they were broken and one slipped up and around her back. “It’s ‘swing’ as far as I know it—”

“Jive,” Brianna contradicted in a quieter voice.

“But it’s much easier to do when you aren’t hampered by these long, heavy skirts,” Claire finished.

“Well, there’ll be some measure of informal dancing at Hogmanay I’m sure—no _that_ informal, perhaps—but lively like that,” Jamie agreed.

“I don’t suppose the waltz is in fashion yet,” Claire lamented. “I don’t remember when it gets popular.”

“I’m beat,” Brianna warned, easing her way towards the door. “But if you don’t mind going through that first dance with me again tomorrow…”

“As often as ye like,” Jamie promised. “We can practice in the barn in the afternoon, so we have more room.”

Brianna smiled and nodded before bidding her parents a good night and closing the door.

Claire moved to start setting the room to rights again but Jamie held her hand tight.

“Now what is this _waltz_ ye mentioned?”

Claire grinned and pulled him towards the middle of the floor. “Well… we need to be good and close,” she told him as she arranged one of his hands on her lower back and set her arm on his shoulder, their bodies pressed close together. “There are three main steps that you just repeat as you move about the floor—one, two, three, one, two, three,” she began quietly chanting as she stepped back and waited for him to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literary Nerd Note: I had so much fun reminiscing on my graduate lit classes while writing this. For my theory and origins of the novel seminar we read and discussed most of the works mentioned at length––in fact, I had to laugh at the discussion Jamie and Lord John have regarding Pamela in Voyager having suffered through reading it myself. While I don’t know that I’d actively recommend tackling that book, if you ever do find yourself reading it, I must recommend reading it in conjunction with Henry Fielding and Eliza Haywood’s responses to it, Shamela and Anti-Pamela respectively.


	13. Christmas Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve at Lallybroch and Claire has something special in mind for Brianna.

Brianna’s dance lessons continued over the next few days but she hesitated as she climbed the stairs on Christmas Eve. She was tired from their dance lessons in the barn and didn’t think she had the patience for another chapter of _Pamela_. Back in Boston there were a number of Christmas Eve traditions that she, her mother, and Frank would have been preparing for and while she’d been rather successfully distracted by the bustle of activity at Lallybroch, it simply didn’t feel like Christmas Eve this year.

The decorations made the hall at Lallybroch _look_ a bit like Christmas, but there were no record players or radios pumping Christmas carols into the background noise; the kitchen was a flurry of activity and baking but none of the familiar scents of gingerbread (one of the few things Claire knew how to bake) or hot chocolate or egg nog wafted through the air. And there was no snow on the ground. Though Claire had assured her that there would probably be some snow during the winter, it probably wouldn’t be as deep or as cold as winters in Boston—high in the mountains perhaps, but down in their valley the peaks served as a measure of protection. There would be no ice skating though when the snow did come she was sure to find sledding partners in young Ian and Janet. Presents were an unlikely luxury.

She considered begging off and just going to bed for the night but knew that all that would result in was her wallowing or worse, Janet might ask her about what was wrong and there was no simple way to answer questions along those lines. She could talk to her mother about it but hesitated at the thought of mentioning anything to Jamie.

Brianna sighed. The easiest thing to do would be to paste a smile on her face and try to focus on the lesson at hand. The holiday would be over soon enough and Hogmanay after that and then… What then? Life would go on here at Lallybroch and she would become further and further entrenched in it—was already far more invested in it than she had thought when she and her mother first landed on this side of the stones. That walk from Craigh na Dun to Inverness and then riding from Inverness to Lallybroch, Brianna had visions of how awkward it would be to meet and impose on these strangers that her mother insisted were her family, how miserable everyday living would be without the conveniences of the twentieth century, how much she would long for the life she’d left behind. She had clung to the promise Claire made about bringing her back to the standing stones and letting her go back. A few weeks, maybe a few months and then she’d be back on that hill, more than ready to face that horrible passage back to everything that was familiar and that mattered to her.

But _now_ …

It would be difficult to leave everyone at Lallybroch behind––her mother and father especially. Her mother had been right about there being more for her in the eighteenth century than she ever could have guessed. There was a sense of belonging to something bigger that she didn’t know existed. She’d researched the Randall line with Frank for years and thought she felt connected to it—touching documents and artifacts that his ancestors had touched, used, written—it had been powerful. But she felt so detached from it now—now that she used her grandmother’s paints and read from her father’s books (books with flowers for her mother pressed between the pages); now that she roamed the halls her grandfather built and listened to the sounds of her extended family _living_ there beside her… everyone connected.

But she couldn’t forget her connection with Frank. She might not be able to feel the same connection she once had for the Randall line—especially now that she knew more of the truth about what certain members of that line had done—but the moments with Frank had been real, _their_ connection remained and was true.

And now he was alone on Christmas Eve. She could see him in the house in Boston, sitting in the overstuffed chair with the book of Dickens on the coffee table, unwilling or unable to pick it up. He’d have a bottle of brandy beside it, probably close to empty. The sofa where they usually sat would be empty, only the vibrant blue and green afghan draped over the back.

The image made her ache for him––to comfort him, to see him smile at her again. Close to tears, Brianna decided that she _would_ beg off the night’s reading. She needed to spend some time alone with her thoughts and memories of Frank. She knew that it was ridiculous, but some part of her believed that if she did, he would know she missed him, that she hadn’t forgotten about him.

She knocked and announced herself before pushing open the door to make her excuses. As the door swung, she was struck by the scent of peppermint and pine—by the scent of Christmas.

Her eyes went wide as she looked around her parents’ room. Her mother—undoubtedly—had been the main force behind the transformation she saw.

Jamie had retrieved the pine boughs as Claire requested and they were placed here and there about the room, the smell filling the spaces between them until it gave the impression of being in the midst of a forest. Claire had scavenged colorful bits of ribbon and even hung a few of her earbobs from some of the twigs as a means of decorating them. She must have placed strategic drops of her distilled peppermint oil about the room as well to get that extra layer of scent into the space. A gift was wrapped in a cloth sack and tied with a bow on the bed. The chairs had been rearranged in front of the fire where a single, larger log was burning in a prominent position.

“Is that…?” Brianna asked, stepping into the room and forgetting her resolution of a moment before.

“A Yule log,” Claire nodded. “Yes.”

“Yer mam gave me verra specific instruction as to what I was to fetch from the wood,” Jamie chimed in. “She seemed pleased enough with it all so I hope it’s to yer liking as well.”

Brianna nodded, speechless.

“Well, come in and have a seat,” Claire came forward to guide Brianna in and close the door. “It’s not _exactly_ the way we did things in Boston, but Jamie was curious and I thought it would be appropriate if we were to start a few new traditions,” she explained. “We can’t have hot chocolate with a candy cane in it but…” she moved to the hearth where a kettle of something was being kept warm; tea cups sat ready on their saucers next to the ewer. “It’s the closest I could make to mulled cider,” Claire apologized. “It’s more of a weak wine warmed with some honey but it’s rather good—just don’t overdo it.”

Brianna sipped the concoction skeptically as Claire passed another cup over to Jamie and then poured one for herself. It wasn’t a familiar taste—the sweetness of the honey occasionally overwhelmed the flavor of the wine—but she felt the warmth it offered seep into her bones and muscles, relaxing her and bringing on a feeling of contentment.

“There wasn’t enough ingredients to make gingerbread for you,” Claire explained as she moved to grab a plate that had a cloth draped over its contents, “and I’m not sure I would have succeeded without a prop—without a _modern_ oven. But I did manage to abscond with a few shortbread biscuits—Mrs. Crook and Jenny were testing the flour to be sure it was ground fine enough. How often _does_ that mill break down?” Claire turned to Jamie as though he would have an answer.

“Dinna look at me,” he chuckled and reached for a biscuit. “The pair of you got here ‘fore I did.”

Daring, Brianna dipped a bit of one of the biscuits into the mulled wine. The flavor was again, odd, but the warm liquid softened the biscuit in a vaguely familiar way—it wasn’t the same as dipping a chocolate chip cookie into a glass of milk but it would do.

Claire perched in a chair beside Jamie as the three of them slowly and quietly ate their evening snack.

Just as things were beginning to approach the point of an awkward silence, Claire nudged Jamie who set his cup down and moved to retrieve the wrapped parcel from the bed.

“Yer mam says that folk usually exchange a few gifts in yer time. There isna much we could get for ye wi’out making a journey all the way out to Inverness or Edinburgh––and I’d already given ye the trunk––”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Brianna asserted though she suspected it sounded hollow—she couldn’t help it if she had been disappointed by the thought of a Christmas without presents.

“We wanted you to have something special and appropriate for Hogmanay,” Claire told her as she loosened the ties and the wrappings fell away. The deep green and rich blue of the skirt and bodice were more vibrant than anything that had been adapted to fit her so far—a more delicate fabric than the wools and homespuns too. “Jenny helped me to make it for you. The fabric came from two of the dresses I’d had when we lived in Paris. I don’t know how they managed to survive so long in such good condition.”

“Jenny kent they were yours, Sassenach. She’d no ha’ done more than care for them in yer absence,” Jamie assured her but Claire looked at him askance and turned her attention back to Brianna.

“We tore a few of my old dresses to pieces in making newer and more festive attire for the ladies of Lallybroch—I had first pick and thought this would suit you best. But there’s more,” Claire said with a nod to a small drawstring pouch that had fallen from the wrapped pile as Brianna unfolded the clothes to look them over.

As Brianna opened the pouch, Claire looked to Jamie who gave her a nod and put a hand on her shoulder; she, in turn, covered it with her own.

Brianna gasped. “Mama.” She pulled a strand of unusually shaped pearls from the pouch and cradled them in her palm. There were gold roundels between the pearls and each of those had another smaller pearl dangling from it. “I remember these—when you let me look through your jewelry box you… you would take them out and handle them yourself. You said they were my grandmother’s but I never saw you wear them.”

“Aye, they were yer grandmother’s,” Jamie told her from over Claire’s shoulder. “My da gave them to me for my wife—said she’d have wanted them to pass to the next Lady Broch Tuarach.” Claire squeezed his hand.

“And you did. He gave them to me for our wedding. And now they’re yours.”

“For Hogmanay…” Brianna sought to clarify.

“No. For good.”

“I… I assumed they were my grandmother Beauchamp’s,” Brianna murmured to herself as she ran her thumb over the oddly shaped pearls. “I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t wear them.”

“Frank… I don’t know if he knew I had them—he must have,” Claire theorized. “They were with my effects when I first came back and was in the hospital. I always assumed he’d gone through everything… but we never talked about it and I… I couldn’t bring myself to wear them—not around him at least; salt in a wound though… I’m not sure whose wound.”

Jamie cleared his throat before the conversation traveled further down such a solemn path.

“I believe, Sassenach, ye promised me there would be a story tonight,” he reminded Claire.

Brianna’s head whipped up to find her mother’s attention already fixed on her.

“It’s not what you think,” Claire assured Brianna as she reached for the dress to begin refolding it and setting it aside. “It won’t be _A Christmas Carol_ —for one thing, that’s a bit longer than I think we have time for tonight. And for another, I’m not as well versed in the entirety of that one. But there was another piece I thought might make an appropriate recitation to end the evening.”

Brianna set the pearls aside with her new clothes and slipped to sit on the floor at her mother’s knee. Jamie resumed his seat beside her but sat leaning forward, eager to hear Claire’s tale.

With their attention on her, Claire settled in.

“ _Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…_ ”

* * *

Jamie managed to keep from asking questions until Claire had finished the poem but soon overwhelmed his wife and daughter with his inquisitiveness. Claire—with Brianna’s assistance—recited the poem at least twice more so he could appreciate the details that had been meaningless without a greater context.

“And ye expect me to believe that a man fat as that _with_ a sleigh and eight beasts didna collapse the roof?” he asked in disbelief.

“ _That’s_ what you object to?” Claire asked with a laugh. “Not the fact that they can fly but the fact that the roof remains in place.”

Brianna moved to pour herself a little more of the mulled wine while her parents continued to debate the merits of Saint Nick and his reindeer.

“I can assure ye that when we sought favor from Saint Nicholas we did so in prayer and we didna ask for trivial things for amusement,” Jamie said adamantly.

“Then what kinds of stories did your parents tell you at Christmas time?” Brianna asked resuming her place on the floor at their feet.

Jamie paused with his brow furrowed as he thought. “Well… Da always read the Nativity to mark the day.” Jamie’s face shifted to an amused smile. “One year when I was learning my Latin and had been moaning on about it, Da made me do a translation fit for midnight mass— _both Gospels_. Said it wasna a bad bit of verse to ken in as many languages as I could. I didna complain so much come Lent lest he do the same for the Passion—it being a subject that _all four_ Gospels address at great length.”

Brianna chuckled quietly as she finished the last of her wine and set the cup down.

“So if you didn’t wake up Christmas morning to run downstairs and open presents, what was it like?” She shifted her legs off to the side so she could rest her head against her mother’s leg more comfortably.

“Well… most of the celebratin’ was saved for Hogmanay but dinner would be a bit finer than usual—an extra bit of meat and extra sweets after. The day itself was usually… easier—no like the Sabbath but Da wouldna spend as much of his time at the ledgers or meeting with the tenants—though a good many of them likely took the day lightly to mark it too,” Jamie conceded.

“There’s…” Brianna paused to yawn, “nothing you remember more specifically than that? No Christmas when Auntie Jenny did something to you or you got into trouble for anything?”

“There was one year—though I dinna recall that it was Christmas precisely, being a wee thing at the time—but Willie and Jenny had been fighting or some such and to punish them Mam and Da decided to… No. I dinna remember enough of it—only the way that Willie and Jenny made a grand show of apologizing to one another to get what they wanted and that I marched forward to make my own apologies though the matter had naught to do wi’ me. The look on my Mam’s face as she and Da fought no to laugh.”

Jamie was close to laughing again himself when he felt Claire’s hand on his leg. Looking down, he realized that Brianna had apparently drifted off to sleep as he talked.

“Can you put her to bed?” Claire whispered.

“Aye,” he whispered back. His knees cracked as he stooped to lift Brianna from her place on the floor. She sighed but didn’t wake as Jamie got to his feet again with her in his arms, her forehead tucked against his neck. As he disappeared into the hall, Claire began straightening the room and undressing for bed.

Janet was already asleep when Jamie eased into the room to lay Brianna down on her bed. He pulled the blanket up to cover her after hesitating over whether he should risk waking her to remove her shoes. Lightly brushing a lock of hair from her face he let his finger trace the line of her jaw. Her mouth ticked up at the corner into a fleeting smile that brought the same response to his own expression.

Claire was slipping under the covers as he returned and closed the door behind him.

“She didna wake,” he told Claire, removing his waistcoat before sitting to remove his boots. “I dinna ken whether or no she had those dancing plums in her head but she did smile a bit so it must ha’ been pleasant whatever it was she saw.”

Claire chuckled. “The Christmas after she turned seven Frank bought tickets to the ballet for _The Nutcracker_ and we put them in her stocking. She was so excited—she danced around the house for days and knocking things all over the place while she did her pirouettes and arabesques. I think she even slept with the envelope under her pillow.”

“A ballet about a nutcracker?” Jamie’s skeptical intrigue broke Claire from her reminiscence.

“A story for another night,” she told him as he slid into the bed beside her. She pulled him over for a kiss. “For now, I believe we’re supposed to be settling in for a long winter’s nap.”

Jamie laughed quietly as he pulled Claire against him to make her aware that something was still stirring in the house—and it was stirring against her hip. He kissed her a long and deep as he rolled her onto her side and eased his leg between hers, the hem of her shift riding up as he did so.  

 


	14. Gowns, Dancing, and Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna must face her nerves as the Hogmanay celebration arrives.

The morning of Hogmanay was more chaotic than Brianna ever expected with Jenny at the helm but after an hour or two she realized it wasn’t as chaotic as it first appeared; it simply took that long for her to recognize and appreciate the depth of organization and orchestration that was at work. Mrs. Crook and the kitchen maid were at work along with one of the two housemaids who had been borrowed specifically to assist in preparing the food that would be cooked and served on rotation throughout the evening. Claire, Brianna, and Janet were all helping Jenny and the remaining tidying of the house with young Michael and young Jamie moving the larger pieces of furniture about as their mother instructed. Fergus assisted Jamie and Ian with the preparations outdoors—fetching and readying the casks of wine, ale, and whisky, ensuring the barn was cleaned and stocked with for the extra horses that some of their tenants and neighbors would arrive with (though there would be plenty who used other beasts of burden for their wagons or who would simply walk).

Early afternoon was when the atmosphere shifted from the frenzy of preparing the house and yard to the frenzy of preparing themselves. Brianna wasn’t the only one to have received a new dress for Christmas. In fact, Claire had quietly made a request for Jenny’s assistance in remaking all her old gowns from Paris for Hogmanay and in keeping it secret from Brianna. It was a task that Maggie and Kitty were more than happy to assist with, enjoying both the prospect of working with such fines—if a little outdated—materials and the fact that they’d have so much say in their own gowns’ final results. Claire immediately set the blue and green gown aside to be remade for Brianna and smiled as she pulled the gown she would wear from its storage trunk.

There had been some final fittings in the days between Christmas and Hogmanay but the adjustments to the clothes had been minimal, a collective taking in rather than scrambling to piece together something different for anyone. Where extra fabric was needed for embellishment or replacement, it was taken from the skirts, which proved far longer and fuller than necessary without the panniers beneath them, and when it came to the bodices the garments proved to have plenty of extra fabric there too, Claire being both taller and more buxom than Jenny or her daughters.

Claire’s dress was the only one that needed significant alterations and those were by request rather than necessity. Brianna watched as Claire stood for Jenny to pin the new ruched front in place before taking it away again for the last bit of sewing. Maggie and Kitty were giggling as they finished their preparations in another corner, Maggie weaving ribbons into Kitty’s dark locks. Kitty offered suggestions for how Janet might plait her hair and the youngest Murray daughter was soaking in the attention of her older sisters.

The atmosphere of feminine preparation resonated with Brianna in an unexpected way. She could be anywhere in any time at that moment; it was a scene from _Gone with the Wind_ or the girls’ bathroom at the start of Winter Formal; it was excitement and anticipation rippling across the generations in a way you might see at a wedding. Actually, Jenny had approached Claire with a request and one of the French gowns had been set aside for Joan, young Jamie’s betrothed to have remade for the wedding that was only three short months away. They would all be gathered in the room then, just as they were now—perhaps even wearing the same gowns but with spring flowers in their hair instead of ribbons.

Brianna felt her nerves rising as her cousins bustled downstairs as soon as they were ready, eager to greet their friends and admirers as they arrived. She stayed behind, offering to help Jenny get Claire into her altered dress.

“I’m glad ye didna keep that daft French neckline,” Jenny remarked with her hands on her hips as she took in the sight of Claire in the finished gown. “I canna believe it was ever seemly, even by French standards.”

Claire smiled as her fingers played with the ruched silk across the front.

“It’s beautiful, Jenny. Thank you,” she said.

“Thank ye for the lasses’ gowns,” Jenny responded. “They’re more than Ian or I could ever…”

“You could have used them sooner. I’m sorry you didn’t feel—”

But Jenny waved a dismissive hand before Claire could finish the thought.

“It doesna matter now,” she insisted. “We should head down to greet our guests.” Jenny gave a final smile to Claire and Brianna before leading the way out of the room.

Brianna took a deep breath as Claire slipped an arm through hers.

“Can’t put it off forever, I’m afraid,” Claire teased quietly. “I promise, you will have a good time.”

Brianna nodded but still wasn’t convinced. In her mind she ran through the dance maneuvers she’d been practicing for the better part of a month, focusing on that instead of the growing noise from downstairs or where her own feet fell as Claire led her through the corridor and to the stairs. Jenny was already a few steps ahead of them and Claire gave Brianna a gentle nudge to go down first.

Seeing the main hall gradually filling with people gave the space a festive air far beyond what they’d managed with just the decorations. The first platters of food were being laid out in the dining room where the table had been pushed against the wall to allow guests to dine in a buffet style that Claire and Brianna had recommended. Guests appeared confused but intrigued and given the light mood of the party, they adapted to the arrangement enthusiastically.

Brianna spotted her father and Ian loitering near the main entrance prepared to welcome their guests at the door even as their gaze swept the staircase to search for their wives. Jamie spotted Jenny first and elbowed Ian to attention. Brianna grinned as Ian strode forward to meet Jenny at the bottom and compliment her on her new wine-colored silk gown—Brianna didn’t think she’d ever seen her aunt blush before.

There was pride in Jamie’s expression as his eyes found Brianna and watched her as she descended the stairs taking extra care to hold her skirt out of the way—visions of tripping over her own dress and either tearing it or landing on her face had plagued her since her first fitting.

“Ye look bonnie, _mo nighean ruaidh_ ,” he told her as he reached to take her hand and guide her down the last few steps. “There’ll no be a lass here tonight who’ll outshine ye.”

Brianna felt the blush rising in her cheeks. It was exactly the kind of sweet and mildly embarrassing thing she knew most fathers would say that would normally cause her eyes to roll but hearing it from her Da… Her nerves calmed a little and she held her head higher.

“I doubt it but thank you anyway,” Brianna responded.

For a moment Jamie looked like he might object to Brianna’s self-deprecation but Claire had caught his eye.

Brianna wished she could film the way his face changed when he saw her mother. The shift was both obvious and subtle as his admiration for her seeped from his pores. Brianna stepped aside so that Jamie could hurry past. Not waiting for Claire to reach the bottom of the stairs on her own, he met her just below the landing and escorted her down on his arm, his head bent towards her ear as Claire’s face flushed nearly as dark as the red of her dress.

“I wish I could wear a gown like that,” Janet sighed as she approached Brianna, watching her aunt and uncle as they joined Ian and Jenny at the bottom of the staircase. The quartet moved back towards the entrance where more guests were being shown in.

“I think the one you’re wearing looks lovely on you,” Brianna insisted. Janet was wearing a delicate shade of pink that brought out the rosiness of her cheeks without making her appear childish—the younger girl’s chief concern as far as the evening’s festivities were concerned.

Janet shrugged, unconvinced. “Maggie and Kitty have already wandered off with their young men,” she informed her cousin. “And I refuse to mind Ian all evening so ye must come wi’ me an let me introduce ye around.”

“Oh.” Brianna froze but Janet laughed.

“Better me than our parents. They’d have ye cornered wi’ no one about to rescue ye from the adults’ questions,” Janet explained as she led Brianna through the growing throng of people to a corner with a group of girls whose ages apparently ranged from about eight to thirteen.

They all took Brianna in with a note of admiration that would likely have been lacking had they not all been younger than Brianna, but most of the young women closer to her own age or older—like Maggie and Kitty—were too preoccupied with their admirers to be bothered with the mysterious Brianna Fraser.

“Bree,” Janet said, puffing with importance as she took the lead in making introductions. “This is Iona Crook—she’s one of Mrs. Crook’s granddaughters, ye ken. And Marsali and Joanie MacKimmie—they live up at Balriggan wi’ their mam. And this is Sileas Graham—it’s her older sister, Joan, as will be marrying Jamie come spring. Ladies,” Janet said to the gathered girls with all the pomp and circumstance she could muster, “may I present my cousin, Brianna Fraser.”

Brianna gave a self-conscious wave before dipping into a half-hearted curtsy.

“Ye’re from the colonies, are ye no?” Iona asked, clearly having heard a bit about Brianna from her grandmother.

“Uh, yeah. I am. I was born in Boston, actually,” Brianna responded.

“Is it true that Indians scalp ye if ye wander too far from home?” Marsali asked with wide eyes.

“I’ve never seen any,” Brianna answered uncomfortably. “Boston’s on the coast and it’s a pretty big city.”

The girls were all watching her with rapt attention. She realized that none of them were likely to have traveled more than a few miles from home. The largest body of water they had likely ever seen was the nearest loch and the village of Broch Mordha was probably the closest thing to a city they’d visited. She had travelled an ocean—though not by ship as they suspected—and she hadn’t just spent a night or two at a port city on her journeys—she had _lived_ in one.

“It smells,” she told them. “The ocean and the harbor, that is. You have the ships coming in from their voyages and nothing’s been cleaned enough and then there’s the fishy smell from the fishing boats and vendors along the piers.”

The girls were collectively nodding.

“But it’s also beautiful and bright—to see so much blue and the sun shining off the water. It can blind you on a clear day and all goes to gray when the clouds roll in.”

The attention she commanded was broken as Marsali’s gaze shifted past her to someone standing behind her.

Fergus cleared his throat and when Brianna turned around, he bowed gallantly and offered her his good hand. He had a stiff looking artificial form attached to the end of his left arm but whatever apparatus kept it in place was concealed in his sleeve.

“ _Mademoiselle_ ,” he said, leaning on his natural accent. “Would you do me the great honor of joining me for a dance?”

Brianna glanced around. Sure enough, guests were beginning to pair up as instruments were being tuned. She also spotted her parents trying not to watch too conspicuously.

“Thank you… I uh… I will,” she agreed, turning to follow him. “My parents put you up to this didn’t they,” she whispered to him, embarrassed.

“Do not worry about your dancing,” he told her, which she took as a confession that her parents _were_ behind it—she hadn’t practiced her dancing with anyone except her parents… though the others in the house likely knew she had been practicing. As they took their places on the area of the floor that had been cleared for dancing, he leaned in closer. “If we make a misstep, we can simply blame it on my hand.”

Brianna raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Your hand? How is that supposed to explain me screwing up with my feet?”

He didn’t respond further, only winked and took a step back as the musicians began counting down so they would all begin together. Brianna was busy trying to make sense of what Fergus was about and so was too preoccupied to worry about her own coordination. Her muscle memory took over as the strains of the music drifted through the quiet hall—everyone had quieted to watch or take part in the first (and perhaps only sober) dance of the evening. After a few minutes she realized that she was moving comfortably through the steps—not easily or entirely naturally, but passably. The relief that flooded through her brought a smile to her face and Fergus laughed at her before leading her through the next steps.

Brianna spotted her parents at one end of the group of dancers, her father’s face sternly concentrating on keeping count while her mother’s glance darted her way every chance she got.

The first dance came to an end and Brianna joined in the clapping and calling for the next.

“You did well, _mademoiselle_ ,” he commented as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and they backed away from the floor. “You are a natural like your _maman_.”

Brianna flushed at the overblown compliment but refrained from contradicting him.

Her cousin Jamie sought her out for a dance before taking a turn with her father, the two of them quiet but grinning as they stepped and bowed, turned and slid. She even danced with young Ian before he was whisked away to bed in a nearby cottage where several other young children were being housed for the night—there would be no sleeping in the house so loud and boisterous.

Brianna was still a person of interest and several of her dance partners inquired about life growing up in the colonies. She developed an abbreviated response that seemed to satisfy curiosity without feeling like she was either giving too much of the truth away or outright lying through her teeth.

Eventually, she ended up dancing with Fergus again in what turned out to be the last dance of the evening before midnight. As a number of the guests began to make their goodbyes and embark for their homes, Fergus led Brianna back to the group of girls still huddled in one corner of the room. Individually a few had been pulled out to dance or had ventured off in search of food or drink, but one remained in the corner to keep their hold on a position that allowed them a clear view of most of the room and the people in it.

Fergus hovered with Brianna, the girls quieting in his presence.

Eager to break the silence, Brianna asked, “Why are so many people leaving? It isn’t midnight yet.”

Janet jumped in to explain. “Those that live nearby will want to be getting back to receive—”

“The firstfoot,” Brianna recalled with a nod.

“Aye. Jamie will be going about wi’ Joan. Just afore midnight they’ll be gettin’ the gifts they’re to bring wi’ them,” Janet continued.

“The firstfoot must be dark haired and handsome,” Fergus added, tucking his false hand behind his back with a self-conscious smile. “And a man of milord’s coloring is bad luck.” He craned his head, searching for Jamie and furrowing his brow when he failed to locate him. Brianna realized what he was doing and looked around too, surprised that she couldn’t spot her mother’s vibrant red dress either.

“Someone must have banished him early,” Marsali said in a breathless voice before giggling for a moment and redirecting her gaze to the floor when Fergus turned his attention to her.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, offering Marsali a warm smile.

She flushed when she glanced up again but then went pale and swallowed hard as she spotted her mother striding towards them. Stepping forward to meet her mother.

“Mam,” she said, clearing her throat. “I dinna think ye’ve met Brianna Fraser yet though ye will be familiar wi’ Fergus, no doubt.”

“Aye,” Laoghaire MacKimmie said curtly, her eyes boring into Brianna and Fergus at her side. “I ken who they are—the whore’s son and the witch’s lass. They make quite the pair, I dare say. Come along, Marsali, Joanie. I dinna want ye over here just now. Go watch the firstfoot preparations from somewhere else,” she said, corralling her girls out of the corner, putting herself between them and Brianna and Fergus.

Brianna felt her mouth fall open at the woman’s words. It was clear the woman had once been blonde and probably slim with appealing curves but with her hair pulled back and piled up on her head, only the dull underside was visible and her curves—while undoubtedly still appealing to many—were less pronounced as the rest of her figure had rounded out with age. There was a slight roundness to her face as well that could have—and probably _should_ have been jolly—but instead conveyed disapproval and… hurt?

“Mam,” Marsali hissed at her mother with evident embarrassment. “Ye canna speak that way about Mrs. Fraser _here_.”

“And why should I no speak however I like when it’s the truth?” Laoghaire scolded her daughter. “ _You_ should keep yer mouth shut when it comes to things ye dinna ken.”

“I’m sorry,” Brianna interrupted. “ _Who_ are you?”

Laoghaire drew herself up as high as she could—it wasn’t enough to match Brianna, despite being only fourteen years old. “Laoghaire MacKimmie. I was Laoghaire MacKenzie and should ha’ been Laoghaire Fraser had yer witch of a mother no’ interfered and bewitched yer father. I should ha’ kent she’d come back from the grave like that—ye canna kill a witch but with burning. Should ha’ kent she’d find some new way of bewitching Jamie Fraser, too. Are ye even a true lass or just some sort of familiar she fashioned from a bit of his hair and blood?”

Brianna’s palms itched with the desire to slap the woman who stood before her.

“ _Mam_ ,” Marsali repeated in a louder voice to get her mother’s attention. “Ye didna want us over here so let’s go. They’re about to start giving Jamie Murray the gifts he’ll carry wi’ him. Ye dinna want to be disturbing that, do ye?”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Brianna challenged Laoghaire as her talk of witchcraft clicked in Brianna’s mind. “ _You_ were the one who tried to get her killed.”

A whisper of pride tugged at Laoghaire MacKimmie’s lips. “She had a stronger hold on him than I gave her credit for. She was able to summon him to her despite the miles between them. But I’ll have the last laugh when that bride of Satan burns in Hell—and _you_ along wi’ her.”

None of them had noticed but Fergus had slipped away while the teenager faced off against the older woman.

“Mrs. MacKimmie,” a deep voice interrupted the escalating quarrel. Fergus and Rabbie MacNab flanked Jamie Murray as he greeted the woman who was ostensibly his guest, though he’d never been overly fond of the widow personally; his parents had been sure to invite her and her girls to the Hogmanay celebrations for the sake of having enough girls around Janet’s age to keep her occupied. “I’m sure I must ha’ heard ye wrong. I dinna think ye can ha’ been speaking so ill of my aunt—and certainly not to her daughter, my cousin.”

Laoghaire had the decency to look away from Jamie Murray but settled for silence rather than denying the truth of his statement. That it was Jamie Murray saying something meant the attention of most of the room had turned to her as well and while she wasn’t alone in her suppositions that Claire Fraser was a witch, her voice was one of the loudest and most insistent whenever the subject was raised; tenants who remembered Claire from when she and Jamie had lived at Lallybroch as Laird and Lady Broch Tuarach spoke of her capabilities—whether natural or magical—with reverence while Laoghaire did her best to disabuse people of any lingering respect for her perceived rival.

“If ye leave now,” Jamie Murray was telling her, “ye should be able to reach Balriggan with yer lasses before Joan and I make our way there. I’ll be sure to visit ye as firstfoot,” he promised but there was a low tittering through the crowd of remaining guests. Jenny and Ian may have invited Laoghaire for the Hogmanay celebrations but Jamie Murray was Lallybroch’s rightful owner and he was politely but _publicly_ dismissing Laoghaire MacKimmie.

“Aye,” she stuttered with a shaky nod. “I’m sure we’d be honored for ye to visit us at Balriggan this night. Marsali, Joanie, go fetch yer cloaks then wait by the door for me to get the wagon ready.”

“I’ll assist you, _madam_ ,” Fergus volunteered with a gracious smile that concealed his amusement nicely. “You can find the horse in the barn where it is warmer. I will ready the wagon for you and will assist you in securing the creature.”

Laoghaire’s mouth puckered with disgust but she gave a curt nod to Fergus before flouncing off toward the back of the house and the barn beyond. Before Fergus followed, he turned to bow to the girls, letting Brianna see a glimpse of his enjoyment.


	15. A Quiet Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surrounded by guests, Jamie and Claire try to find a few minutes of privacy during the Hogmanay celebrations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains NSFW material.

Jamie stood beside Ian fidgeting nervously with the stock tied at his throat. His stomach was twisted now that the guests were starting to arrive. It had been years since he’d seen any of them and close to fifteen since he’d welcomed them properly to Lallybroch as their Laird. Of course, he wasn’t _really_ doing that now—it only felt like he should be. Young Jamie was just a few feet away at the end of their short receiving line. It was really _his_ home now though he was still more than willing to make way for Ian and Jenny… and now his uncle Jamie.

But standing so near his namesake… He wasn’t a lad anymore—the young man would be marrying in little more than two months’ time. He was of age and since returning, Jamie had learned that Ian had already taught young Jamie many of the intricacies of managing the estate. It had been a test of sorts for young Jamie to catch his uncle up on the books and the state of Lallybroch and the young man had done Ian proud—and made his uncle feel mildly redundant.

It was a feeling that was more easily ignored when Jamie faced the more difficult task of finding ways to connect with his teenage daughter and as winter settled in, there were fewer tasks associated with running the estate to contend with in general.

Making the necessary preparations for the Hogmanay party was the first that Jamie really felt the difference between what his place at Lallybroch had been before Culloden and what it would now always be. Still, he had been able to set that discomfort aside to focus on making sure Brianna was prepared for the evening.

The arriving tenants, however, were forcing Jamie to confront the new realities of his altered state.

“We heard ye returned wi’ yer wife and a daughter,” one of the older tenants, Kerr Gilchrist said as he took Jamie’s hand.

“Aye, they’re upstairs dressing,” Jamie responded with pride. “Should be down soon. And what about yer wife and bairns?”

The man’s face fell a bit. “I lost Saundra two years back but our three lasses are all wed now and I’ve a passel of weans between them.”

“I’m so sorry, _mo charaid_ ,” Jamie said resting an arm on the older man’s shoulder. “But the weans must be a comfort to ye.”

“That they are,” Gilchrist said with a grin and a nod before moving along the line to Ian.

Jamie had been listening to Jenny and Ian’s stories of how the last seven years had affected the various tenants and their families but there were clearly gaps in what they’d remembered to tell him. He tapped his fingers against his leg, anxiously waiting for Claire to join him—having her at his side would relax him. He glanced to the staircase but it remained empty.

Young Jamie brushed past him to greet his betrothed and her family, reintroducing Joan’s parents to his uncle before they settled into a more comfortable conversation with Ian regarding the formal arrangements for the wedding still to come.

“Ye’ll have to speak wi’ Jenny about it,” Ian was saying with a laugh when Jamie spotted his sister making her way down the stairs. He nudged his brother-in-law who broke into a smitten grin at the sight of Jenny in a wine-colored silk.

Young Jamie and Joan’s family faded into the larger party as Ian and Jamie stepped forward. There was an uncharacteristic flush in Jenny’s cheeks as she took Ian’s arm and they walked back to the entryway.

A few steps behind Jenny, Brianna was carefully—and stiffly—making her way down. She hid her nerves well but Jamie could see them in her darting eyes and slow progress on the stairs. The blue and green of her dress drew the observer’s eye to her fiery hair, deftly tamed and restrained for the occasion by Jenny or one of the other girls.

He grinned up at her and reached a long arm out for her to take and lean upon as she descended the final steps. “Ye look bonnie, _mo nighean ruaidh_ ,” he told her as she glanced around frantically. “There’ll no be a lass here tonight who’ll outshine ye.”

Her cheeks reddened as she attempted to shrug in the close fitting dress. “I doubt it but thank you anyway,” she told him. The partially successful shrug seemed to relieve a bit of the stiffness in her shoulders.

Jamie frowned, unsure whether he ought to say more to reassure Brianna or if it was just her nerves speaking for her. But then a familiar flash of red caught his eye.

Claire smiled at him as she came down the stairs like delicately carved ivory wrapped in rose petals. He was up the stairs and at her side without realizing it.

“I should have known ye meant to do more than just remake a dress for Brianna when ye mentioned yer trunks from Paris,” he said as he slipped her hand through his arm.

“Do you like it?” Claire asked glancing down at the modified bodice. “Jenny was able to take some of the extra fabric from the skirt to fix the neckline so it wouldn’t be quite as scandalous.”

“Och, ye’re as scandalous as ever, Sassenach,” he told her as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He leaned in closer. “I canna look at ye in that gown wi’out a flood of impure thoughts running through my mind.”

Claire chuckled and smiled at the guests as Jamie led them to their places in the receiving line.

“I think that speaks more to the state of your mind than it does the condition of my dress,” Claire countered though she still glanced down and ran her hands over the rouching self-consciously.

At that point most of the expected guests had already arrived but Jamie was thankful for the cold air that swept in whenever the door was opened—the dancing hadn’t even begun yet but he could feel his blood beginning to heat.

“Look,” Claire whispered pointed subtly toward a corner where Janet had led Brianna and was busy introducing her to a group of younger girls. Brianna’s bright head was several inches above the other girls; she had one arm reaching across her back with a tight hold on her other elbow and her fingers nervously clutching the fabric of her skirt.

“They’re hanging off every word she says,” Jamie observed with awe.

“She’s like you that way,” Claire told him.

The musicians were beginning to warm up and calls had been made for the dancing to begin. Jamie strained his neck, searching the crowd.

“Oh,” Claire squealed quietly, tugging on Jamie’s sleeve. “Look. Fergus is going to ask her to dance. I hope she doesn’t let her nerves get the better of her.” She glanced back at Jamie before squinting and snorting. “You put him up to it didn’t you,” she accused.

“I wouldna say ‘put him up to it’ like that,” Jamie insisted, taking Claire’s hand and leading her towards the other dancers himself. “I may have planted the seed of an idea with the lad, but I didna give him marching orders or the like.”

Claire gave her husband a little shake of the head that was either disappointment or amazement—from the set of her mouth, he chose to interpret it as the latter—but then the music began and all his focus shifted to counting the steps and not losing his place.

The party passed quickly for Jamie and Claire as they spent the evening alternating between spending time in one another’s arms on the dance floor and milling about the larger company catching up with their former tenants. They had their story down to a set and practiced narrative—their mutual mistake about the others’ death, the way that fate seemed to have stepped in to bring them together again.

Jamie danced with Brianna—whose nerves seemed to have settled down and whose face was flushed with excitement—while Claire danced with Fergus.

“It is good to have you and Milord back home again,” he noted with a nod of enthusiastic approval. “It has not been so joyous since I was a boy.”

“You are quite grown up now, aren’t you,” she remarked with a laugh. “I can’t believe that young Jamie is getting married soon—that Rabbie MacNab has gone from home and found himself a wife already too. What about you, Fergus? Are there any young ladies hereabouts who have caught your eye yet?”

Fergus snorted and shook his head. “Milady must remember,” he said with a small shake of his artificial hand, “I am not a prospect the _mademoiselles_ find appealing.”

“I doubt that,” Claire scoffed. “You are exotic and what happened with your hand demonstrates that you have courage and aren’t afraid of a little danger. That _must_ be exciting to young women longing for adventure.”

“Even if there were, I doubt their  _mamans_ would agree,” he said, closing the subject with somber practicality. The dance, too, finished and Claire drifted back to Jamie’s side at the edge of the crowd as another dance began.

Jamie pulled Claire towards the main entrance where some guests had already begun gathering to leave.

“It’s good to see the twa of ye back where ye belong.”

“Will ye be coming round wi’ yer herbs and medicaments like ye did before?”

“Sometime ye’ll be needin’ to explain how it is what they’re doin’ now is supposed to be better’n what was done afore.”

“I dinna ken how ye’ll be topping this party come young Murray’s wedding but I’m eager to see ye try.”

It was an exhausting parade of cheerful faces but there was a bit of relief to be had when the first wave of departures had finished.

“Do ye think they’ll banish my red heid before they present Jamie and Joanie with the gifts they’re to carry or do ye think they’ll not take their chances and close me in a cupboard before?” Jamie joked.

“They won’t _really_ lock you in your study, will they?” Claire asked with a mixture of amusement and genuine curiosity.

“Depends on how much whisky is missing from the barrels but from the red faces I’d say it’s a stronger possibility than ye’d guess.”

“ _Your_ face is one of the reddest in the room,” Claire pointed out.

He somehow managed to flush an even deeper shade as he pulled her towards a quiet corner.

“If I’m red in the face it’s no from drink.” His voice was low and breathy, strained but also amused.

Claire looked at him with mild concern until he rolled his eyes and she sputtered. “You can’t be serious.”

He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her in front of him so he could whisper in her ear.

“I told ye earlier—the sight of ye in that dress…” he groaned as she laughed quietly. “It’s been trying my will power all night no to pull ye into some corner where we’ll no be seen.”

Claire’s chest was starting to feel a bit tight—his breath was warm and relaxing on the side of her neck, the solid mass of him behind her inviting her to lean back against him. She cleared her throat and turned to address him with resolve. “Whatever you have in mind can wait a little longer. The party will be over before too long.”

Jamie was already shaking his head. “No, Sassenach. See, I’ve had to contend with those thoughts running through my head all evening and I’ve a bit of a plan as a result.”

“A plan?”

“Aye. I’m no too picky as to a few of the details—if ye’ve suggestions of yer own once we start, they’ll be taken under advisement—but I am determined that I’ll pass from this year to the next wi’ yer skirts rucked up, yer legs about my waist, and my cock inside ye.”

His breath was warm on her throat as whispered in her ear. The heat of it spread through her cheeks then shuddered down her spine and settling low in her belly, raising goose pimples along her skin as it travelled. She licked her lips and swallowed before addressing his comments.

“And uh… how exactly were you planning on keeping track of the time? Were you thinking you’d have a pocket watch nearby so you’d know when it was midnight?” she teased but his grip on her waist was tightening.

He chuckled. “No exactly but I think I’ll ken when well enough—gets a bit loud when in the house when midnight strikes; not quite as loud when they send the firstfoot off or when they welcome him back after midnight’s passed.”

“And you were planning to just slip away unnoticed?” she asked skeptically. She glanced down at her dress, the crimson silk a beacon in a room of faded homespun; to cross the room and slip out the back would be to invite the eyes of everyone present to take notice of their presence and subsequent absence. But Claire’s question—Jamie noticed—suggested a certain complicity of thinking that added to his growing excitement.

“We’ll have to go out the front and circle round to the barn—it’ll no be so cold there wi’ the beasts that remain,” he informed her, already guiding her towards the main door. “And we’ll be far enough away from the house we’ll no have to concern ourselves with keeping quiet.”

Claire rolled her eyes but Jamie had pulled open the door just enough for the pair of them to slip out unnoticed.

The winter air was cold and Claire’s silk offered little protection as they slipped through the dark of the night. The moon peeked periodically through the clouds leaving little light to see by but Jamie was confident of the way around the house and back through to the barn.

It was warmer inside, though the departure of some of their guests meant that a number of the warm bodies had been removed. But Jamie and Claire had enough heat of their own.

Stalls lined both sides of the barn but there was a clearing towards the middle of the structure where a bit of farm equipment was stored and a workbench ran along one wall. Jamie had Claire’s hand in his, tugging her towards it and then turning on her and backing her against it. The bench’s edge caught her across the arse as Jamie’s mouth found hers in the dark, his hands at her waist tightening to lift her and set her on the bench. She slipped her arms around his neck while his hands skated over the red silk—which was a colorless dark mass against the whiter tone of her skin. Jamie relied on texture and touch to navigate the familiar terrain of Claire’s body, shrouded as it was in layers of silk that were themselves both familiar and new.

Claire’s lips broke from his, gasping as her fingers dug into his shoulders. Jamie’s cool palm had found its way underneath her skirt and petticoats to the warm dampness between her legs, the heel of his hand pressed hard against her pubic bone as leverage for his exploring fingers. He slipped inside her with an easy chuckle and began teasing her with a curling finger. Claire bit her lip and her breathing quickened as she wriggled under his touch.

His lips began to tickle her neck and then collarbone, his tongue tasting her perspiration as it began to gather.

Jamie was taking his time, was demonstrating the command he had over her body and its responses, composing a symphony of her sighs. But Claire was just as deft at making his body sing at her touch as well.

Unfastening the buttons of his fly was tricky with the pressure of him straining the fabric but then he was firm in her hand and it was Jamie’s turn to bear a little teasing. A strained growl built in his chest as she wrapped her fingers around him to pull him towards her.

There was a flurry of fabric as he bared more of her to the humid air of the stable, as he wedged himself between her legs and got hold of her under her knees. She caught herself on the tabletop by her palms as he startled her with a fervent kiss while the hard length of him was pressed against her. He slipped into her with a single slow and deliberate movement, groaning low as her breath came in a sharp, high whistle. She was aware of the pressure of every inch of him filling her—the completeness of being finally joined with him.

The hold he had on her legs, pulling them wider open as he moved with gentle purpose within her left her willfully at his mercy. Her stays kept her back rigid as she leaned back on her elbows, rocking her hips and grinding against him as he deliberately drew out every movement, one to the next flowing seamlessly together so that there was no coming or going only the fusion of their flesh.

They felt rather than heard one another’s cries of exertion, of building strain, and of their approaching completion. All other sounds failed to penetrate—the noisy party inside as the remaining guests watched young Jamie take up the gifts he would carry as firstfoot and depart with his future bride; a curious question of, “is someone there?”; a gasp belonging to neither of them followed by a scuffling to the barn door.

All Jamie heard was Claire’s imploring, “Don’t stop.” All Claire heard was Jamie’s resolute, “I dinna mean to.”

His grip on her legs tightened as the trembling within her began—he fought the urge to follow her immediately, eager to see her thoroughly dissolve first. But her thighs broke his hold as they gripped his waist and pulled him deeper into her, holding him there while her body coaxed his to respond in kind—and he obliged.

Jamie’s legs ceased supporting him and he instead rested bodily on top of Claire, pressing her into the workbench and closing his eyes to count the rapid beating of his heart until it returned to a steady rhythm. His cheek rested at Claire’s breast, the tip of his nose nestled in the gully of her throat. It was a few moments before Jamie became aware of Claire’s fingers toying with the damp curls at his nape. The outside world made its existence known again—the echo of a celebratory cheer from the house reached them; the horse in the nearest stall snorted and stamped a foot while another further down the line whinnied in response.

“Hmm. Which do you suppose that is? Midnight or something to do with the firstfoot?” Claire mused.

Jamie pressed a light kiss to her the clavicle—hard and pale as ivory, warm against his lips.

“Midnight I think,” he responded, shifting to remove some of his weight from her chest without breaking their fragile link just yet.

Claire began to hum a bit, her fingers tightening in his curls to turn his head up to look at her. “Happy New Year.” He met her halfway and repeated her, “Happy New Year,” against her lips.


	16. Bree's Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna begins keeping a diary.

_January 2, 1761_

_It’s occurred to me that it might be a good idea to keep some sort of record here at Lallybroch. Daddy always ~~complains~~ ~~complained~~ complains about how hard it ~~was~~ is to find primary sources about mundane, everyday life kinds of things because there are so many things people ~~didn’t~~ don’t think to write about. Of course, it’s not as though anyone reading _ this _in the future would be able to make much sense of it—nobody but Daddy. Anyone else would probably think I’m mad._

_If nothing else this will give me “someone” to talk to about my situation. Only Mama and Da know the whole truth and there are too many things ~~I can’t talk~~ it would be awkward to talk about with them—Daddy, mostly. _

_I miss him and I don’t know what to do about it, how to make it stop._

_For instance, I know he would have loved to know about the Hogmanay party and how it’s celebrated ~~now~~ in my now, not his now cause his now will be ‘then’ again. _

_I can’t believe I spent so much time worrying about the party. Da was right and everyone was too drunk to pay attention to my dancing—though I didn’t trip myself or anyone else so I’m marking it down as a success. I knew people would be interested me—and they were but not in the way I thought. They were curious and polite about it—for the most part._

_I didn’t tell Mama or Da about what that Laoghaire woman said. That’s another thing I’m not comfortable talking about with them. She_ really _hates Mama—I don’t think Mama realizes how much. I almost felt bad for the woman when Jamie made her leave and everyone was watching—_ almost _._

_Fergus went to help with her horse and wagon and came back laughing. He wouldn’t say much except she got an unexpected surprise when she went to fetch the horse from the barn and a firm, “you don’t want to know,” when I asked what it was. From the way he said it, I trust he’s right._

_I_ do _feel sorry for Marsali and Joan—that woman’s two daughters. They seemed nice enough—Marsali was practically drooling over Fergus and I’m not sure if it’s cute or kind of weird. He’s so much older than her I kind of want to tell her to give it up but also don’t have the heart. There’s also the fact that I hardly know her. Anyway, they were mortified by their mother’s behavior and I can’t blame them—she really is horrible._

_And now I’m doing a terrible job noting the kinds of details I meant to record—somehow I think it would make Daddy laugh to know that._

_I didn’t recognize the music but it was played by a bunch of the Lallybroch tenants and was pretty good all night—one of the fiddlers got drunker as the evening wore on and he didn’t realize the song ended so he was repeating part of it until the man beside him (drummer) smacked him on the arm to get his attention. It almost turned into a fight but someone brought whisky for the musicians and it turned out all right._

_The food was delicious—what little was left by the time my stomach quieted enough so that I_ could _eat. I mentioned it to Mama and Da yesterday and Da said he gets the same way when he’s anxious—usually before a battle. I wish I could say more about the authenticity of the food and how it was all arranged, but I forgot Mama and I helped Aunt Jenny plan it and we were the ones who suggested everything be laid out like a buffet so the guests could eat what they wanted when they were ready instead of trying to coordinate one large meal. I didn’t get it before when Mama told me about what she and Da tried to do in Paris and trying to stop the ’45, but I guess it’s kind of like that. You can affect some things without thinking about it (little things) but others are too big to stop even if you want to._

_The dresses Aunt Jenny and my cousins made were one of my favorite parts—Janet heard Mrs. Crook say that folk will be talking about Mama’s red dress for the next twenty years. When everything was being fitted, I thought the silks (Mama’s from when she and Da were living in Paris) were faded and dull. But in the firelight and around everyone else’s homespun they looked good as new._

_January 3, 1761_

_It hasn’t even been a week since Hogmanay and Aunt Jenny has already started planning for Jamie’s wedding in the spring. She wants it to be at the end of Lent so people don’t have to worry about fasting. (Apparently Easter celebrations are near non-existent compared to back home in Boston). The only possible issue is that Easter will fall early this year, which means there is some debate as to whether the wedding should be pushed back until April so it won’t interfere with spring planting, but Jamie and Joan (his betrothed) don’t want to wait that long. He says that there’s always something and once you start pushing it back you can always find an excuse to keep pushing it back more. I think he talked to Da about it at some point because Da got that look on his face when he said it and Mama was looking at him and smiling too._

_They’re always looking at each other. I don’t know how but it’s like they can just tell what the other is thinking with just one little glance. I thought I could understand how Mama felt when she talked about him after we first came through the stones (which was horrible and you’d have to have a really good reason to go through more than once so the fact that Mama’s been through three times now says a lot). They try to tone things down when they know people are watching—me especially—but they get distracted by each other and don’t always notice they’re being watched, which defeats the purpose._

_It’s been strange to see them together like that and I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to it. I wonder if it was because I’m too used to Mama and Daddy. They never acted like that. I can’t really ask anyone else if this is normal for them or anything like that because then they might ask me more about Boston and I don’t want to have to worry about what I say—I’m also a little afraid I’ll let something about Daddy slip. So instead I’ve been watching everyone a lot. No one who remembers them from before seems surprised by how they are together so I guess they were always like this. Fergus makes me feel like maybe they’re_ more _whatever it is they are now than they were before. Aunt Jenny and Uncle Ian also seem happy with Mama and Da being here. They’re not as obvious themselves but can be almost as bad sometimes—Janet complains about it but I don’t notice it until she points it out._

 

_January 7, 1761_

_Da promised Ian and me he’ll take us hunting as soon as the weather allows. Until then, he and Uncle Ian are getting us ready and teaching us how to take care of the few guns left on the estate. Most of them were taken during the Redcoat raids but Aunt Jenny had a few put away in the Priest’s Hole where they weren’t found. It’s still dangerous to have weapons like that on an estate like this but they’re needed for hunting game._

_We haven’t been allowed to actually fire the guns yet but I know all the parts and can take it apart enough to properly clean it. Once Da’s satisfied, he’ll show me how to load it with blanks so I can practice firing without wasting shot. They have Ian practicing on pistols because the muskets and rifles are too big for his size—Da says the recoil would knock him out of his boots and onto his arse. He obviously won’t be able to use a pistol hunting but he doesn’t want to be left out of getting to fire the guns._

_Neither one of us is probably going to get to do much on the hunt itself—not as far as aiming and shooting at anything. It’s the rest of it that has me more worried—making sure whatever we get is dead and seeing it skinned and gutted. I’m not sure why Da goes white when Mama needs his help dealing with a patient but he can butcher a stag with no problems. My stomach drops out when I think about doing either. Da’s going to show me how to set snares and traps too so my first prey will probably be squirrels or rabbits. Somehow I don’t find it any less intimidating._

_I don’t think Aunt Jenny approves. She makes this noise whenever it comes up and I heard Mama telling her that she didn’t care how Da and I spend time together so long as we do. She also said that things are done differently in Boston and the colonies, which is enough to shut up even Aunt Jenny on such topics._

_January 10, 1761_

_Janet says my Gáidhlig is coming along well though I think she’s just humoring me. It’s like learning two languages at once because how it’s all spelled is nothing like how it’s pronounced. Mama says that Da would like to work with me on it but doesn’t want to step on my toes if I want to keep going with Janet. I’m not sure what to do about it. Da would probably be a better teacher than Janet who tends to go all over the place but she goes slow enough that I don’t feel so thick about it. I was going through the library again—we finally finished_ Pamela _—and I don’t even recognize all the languages in the books Da has. French, Spanish, Greek, Latin, German. Plus English and Gáidhlig. More languages than I have fingers on one hand._

_I asked him about a few words while we went for a walk outside checking the snares (two rabbits, three squirrels). He taught me the prayer he says when he makes a kill while hunting. It was nice—cold outside—but nice. His leg seemed to be bothering him so he thinks there’ll be a storm coming in the next few days. He also said I didn’t have to worry about taking care of cleaning the stuff we caught so Mrs. Crook and Aunt Jenny could use them for supper—not yet at least. I got to reset the snares myself and didn’t need his help this time._

_January 13, 1761_

_After being cooped up inside all day yesterday because of the storm (which was nothing compared to what we would get in Boston as far as the amount of snow but seems worse when there are no space heaters or anything to keep warm), Da let me fire the musket today—no ball, just a bit of powder. I only fired once and now it feels like my arm might fall off. Mama insisted on looking at it and grabbed snow in a cloth to put on it to help with the swelling. There’s nothing wrong with it but the bruise will be as big as my fist. Da laughed and congratulated me for staying on my feet, that next time it should be easier to brace myself for the recoil. Since I plan to find a way to put padding in my sleeve next time, I should hope so._

_For now, I’m stuck inside practicing my formal lessons and having Aunt Jenny show me how to do needle work (since Mama’s isn’t all that good). She was only a little surprised that I’ve had next to no experience with embroidery or even basic mending so she’s starting me off on a sampler—just like the ones I remember seeing in the museums. There was some debate as to what I should make—the alphabet seemed too childish. Janet thought it should be something in Gáidhlig to combine it with my lessons but Mama suggested the Fraser crest and motto—Je Suis Prest.—I am ready._

_I feel like I’m getting ready for something but I still don’t know what. Learning to use the guns and to hunt; sewing; Gáidhlig. Am I getting ready to live here the rest of my life? It’s like I’m waiting for something to happen, something that might never come. What will happen if I wait too long and then choose to go back to Daddy but can’t? What if I don’t recognize the sign when it comes? ~~What if~~_

_If nothing else, there is something calming about learning all this stuff. I at least feel like I’m doing something and the repetition can be soothing. It’s easier to think about making sure the line of stitches is perfectly straight or rubbing oil into the wood of the stock._

_January 16, 1761_

_Da skinned a rabbit in front of me today. Actually he asked me to hold it up by its hind legs while he pulled the skin off. I didn’t want to and I don’t think he would have forced me to if I said something, but it felt like a challenge or a test and I’ve always thought of myself as a rip the band-aid off kind of person so I did it. He didn’t say anything about how I was closing my eyes the whole time. When we were walking back to the house he just pulled me into his side and kissed me on the head._

_I was a little worried he’d say that I have to do the next one. I think that’s what Daddy would have done. I remember when I was about four or five and was afraid of spiders, I screamed once and Daddy came running. He didn’t yell at me but he didn’t kill it either. He put his mug over it then went to get a tissue and a book. When he lifted the mug up he covered the spider with the tissue and made me squish it with the book, then carry it away to the trash myself. He made me get the tissue and the book next time and put the tissue over it too._

_I still hate spiders—though I don’t scream anymore. And I have no desire to skin a rabbit on my own but I have a feeling I’ll be doing just that at some point in the next few days._

_January 18, 1761_

_I did it and it was horrible but not as bad as I thought it would be. It actually reminded me of dissections in biology class but without that gross formaldehyde smell and the weird rubbery-ness of everything. Hearing the bones cracking is the worst part but the blood smell at least has something natural about it. I kept my lunch down, which was the most I was hoping for. Ian was with us this time and Da showed him how to skin one too. He enjoyed it a lot more than I did—he even smeared a bit of the rabbit blood on his cheeks like war paint but Da made him stop and use some snow to wash it off before Aunt Jenny could see it._

_Da said he’s going to dry and save the skins to make something with them—line a coat for me or for Mama for next winter probably. If we can catch enough of them there might be enough for both of us._

 

_January 22, 1761_

_More snow meant more needle work. I think I spent more time untying knots and pulling out bad stitches than I did making new ones. I don’t know why but today’s storm was making me stir crazy. It was the perfect kind of snowfall for the kinds of things we used to do back in Boston—building snowmen, snowball fights, taking our sleds out to use on the massive snow banks, hot cocoa with marshmallows. Ian was the only one interested in trying either of the first two._

_Da was busy with Fergus doing what they could to be sure the roofs were all cleared of snow—there was a cave in at one of the tenants’ homes after the last storm and everyone’s trying to avoid it for themselves. It’s a lot harder to do when so many of the roofs are thatched and there are no real shovels and things. Da’s also really worried about the walls and making sure water from the melting snow doesn’t drip down between the stones anywhere. If it freezes, it’ll expand and can actually break the stones apart—and repairing the walls at Lallybroch isn’t easy. He did come down and flop in the snow long enough to make a snow angel with us but then Mama came out and scolded him for being outside so long. She wanted us all to come inside before we caught hypothermia and when Ian and I argued with her about it, she went and got Aunt Jenny to come out. There was no cocoa inside for us, just some warm thing Mama made up—I don’t know what was in it, and I don’t think I want to know._

_It almost reminds me of when Daddy would stay up late during the winter to be sure the pipes didn’t freeze. He would fret from room to room, monitoring space heaters and the fire in the fireplaces while Mama always said he was worried about nothing, that he kept the house warm enough for the devil himself to be comfortable._

_Daddy always let me use one of his ties for my snowman._

_January 23, 1761_

_I need to get my idea down before I lose it altogether. I was missing Daddy and wishing that there was some way I could at least let him know where I am and that I’m all right. Mama left a letter but I didn’t get to even read it to know what she said and not getting to say goodbye to Daddy… I wish I could have and I really don’t want him to worry about me; I want him to know I’m safe. So what if there were some way that I could do that? If he believes Mama’s letter then he’ll probably be looking for me. There might be some way I can leave him a message—maybe even a way he can find this diary._

 

_January 28, 1761_

_How do you send a message over two hundred years into the future? There has to be a way to do it so that it gets to Daddy and no one else, a way to be sure he’s the one to find it, some place where I can be sure he’ll find it—where he’ll know to look. All of the places that mean something to the two of us are an ocean away, unfortunately—and many of them don’t exist yet, at any rate. It will have to be something to do with the Randalls—though even thinking along these lines feels like I’m being disloyal to Mama and Da. ~~If I can find Mary Randall’s son I can give him this diary and~~ _

_February 2, 1761_

_Maybe I can put it somewhere so that it ends up in Reverend Wakefield’s things. He collects all sorts of odds and ends that Daddy likes to poke through. ~~If I can seal it up somewhere well enough so that Daddy is the first~~ Daddy always said that the surest way to get someone to open something is to mark it “Do Not Open.” _

_This isn’t going to be as easy to figure out as I thought._

_But I’m not going to give up trying._

_February 4, 1761_

_It’s Ash Wednesday. Back in Boston I always gave things up for Lent, usually chocolate or candy but I don’t have to worry too much about either of those here._

_Da asked me if I’m all right—I guess I’ve been letting this idea to get a message to Daddy get to me. He wanted to be sure I still wanted to go on the hunting trip he’d promised because I’d been skipping the shooting lessons to stay in and work on my needle work. He worried that the last few trips along the trap route have been a bit much—I’ve officially killed, skinned, and otherwise butchered four rabbits, two squirrels, and one bird that somehow got its leg caught in the snare. I still prefer setting up the traps to checking them but I think I’m getting used to it._

_I wanted to tell Da everything about how I want to get a message to Daddy, but I don’t want him to think that I spend all day thinking about Daddy—even though the last week that’s been true._

_February 7, 1761_

_Da figured it out. I asked him if he’d ever thought to try and get a message to Mama while he was living in the cave to let her know that he had survived Culloden after all._

_He said that he had thought about it a lot—that he’d dreamed of little more than her coming back and bringing me with her but that he also knew it was selfish to think of acting on it. He knew that we were safer where we were. He asked if my asking had anything to do with Daddy and I couldn’t help telling him about wanting to just let Daddy know that I’m all right and miss him; I didn’t tell him about this diary._

_He suggested putting some sort of notice in the newspaper—Mama told him about how things like that tend to get archived and preserved. It’s not what I had in mind but I think it will work well enough to at least let Daddy know that Mama and I made it safe—if he manages to find the notice at all. I’ll keep working on figuring out a way to get the diary to him but even as small a chance as the newspaper notice has of getting to him, it’s helped._

_February 11, 1761_

_Daddy,_

_It seems only right I start addressing you directly now. I know you’ve wondered what it would have been like for your ancestors living in this time and I’ll try to be as thorough as possible in my reporting moving forward—sorry I’ve done such a poor job of it so far._

_Tomorrow Da is taking me and my cousin Ian hunting, as long as the weather cooperates…_


	17. Flushing Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awaited hunting trip arrives.

They woke and readied themselves to go out before dawn, finally embarking as the sun was just beginning to rise. In such low light it was difficult to correctly gauge depth so they had to be careful as they left the familiar paths in pursuit of a pair of tracks that appeared promising.

The younger Jamie and Fergus accompanied Jamie, Brianna, and the younger Ian, mostly in the optimistic hope that their strength would be necessary to assist in carrying home a stag carcass or two.

Ian began the morning well enough, focused and cautious in all his movements as they made their way slowly and quietly through the woods. When Jamie held up a hand to encourage the rest of them to stay put while he went on a little ways ahead, Ian clamped his mouth shut and grinned excitedly at Brianna.

The shot echoed back to them a few moments later and Jamie reappeared to wave them forward.

He had struck a stag in the shoulder but the creature bolted leaving a more noticeable trail as he fled.

“He’s losing a bit of blood,” Jamie remarked to Brianna and Ian. “He’ll no last long before he tires and we catch him up. Would ye like the honors?” he asked of Ian, offering him a knife.

The young lad swallowed visibly as he accepted it and stepped forward to take the lead, following the trail of blood that stood out starkly against the crust of snow that lingered on the forest floor.

The wounded stag proved more capable than Jamie had expected and it took them almost half an hour to find it lying exhausted on the forest floor. Its side was streaked with blood and heaving as its uninjured legs scrambled against the ground in an attempt to regain its feet. Its breath came in gusty clouds, shrinking as its eyes closed.

“What if it swings its head at me?” Ian asked, hesitating to step forward. “It could knock me to the ground wi’ antlers like that.”

“It’s no got the strength left,” the younger Jamie said stepping forward to help his younger brother. “All ye have to do is catch him with a quick deep cut there,” he motioned with a finger, “and stand back. It willna take long.”

“It’ll be a mercy,” the elder Jamie told his nephew. “Better that than to let him linger on in pain.”

Ian pressed his lips together and nodded finally stepping up to the animal.

Brianna turned away as Ian murmured to the dying creature and did what needed to be done.

They debated for a few minutes whether to begin butchering the stag on site or wait until they got the whole carcass back to Lallybroch. It would be easier to carry if they removed the majority of the entrails and left them for the creatures of the woods to devour in their own time. But they would be able to use more of the carcass if they waited and either way someone would have to return to Lallybroch promptly.

“The smell would scare away the other game,” Jamie explained to Ian. “No to mention it would be impossible to carry all that extra meat and stay quiet and light of foot.”

“And it’d be messy,” Ian pointed out. “Mam willna care for that—I’ve already got blood on my sleeve and my stockings and it doesna wash so well as the dirt.”

Jamie smiled and rubbed at a speck of blood that Ian had inadvertently smeared across his cheek. He’d been quiet enough earlier but there had been an underlying excitement to it then. Having made the final kill himself, he was more somber and Jamie could see that it was taking its toll on the lad; he needed to get home where he could recount the hunt to his parents and receive his well-earned praise and comfort in return.

Fergus and the younger Jamie quickly fashioned a means to carry the carcass between them and let Ian take the lead in retracing their path out of the woods and back to Lallybroch.

“Ye’re no coming too, Uncle Jamie?” Ian asked.

Jamie turned to glance at Brianna. He knew she was still unsettled by her thoughts of Frank. Things between them had been left unfinished. He’d seen it before with Claire after she decided to stay. He was just as jealous now as he had been then—he’d never be free of the jealous, it would seem. He couldn’t begrudge the lass her affections for the man that had raised her and the pain of seeing his daughter hurting was certainly worse than the jealousy.

“Brianna and I will see if we can find something more,” he decided. “Probably no another stag like that, but perhaps we’ll bag a bird or two.”

Ian didn’t argue. He was ready for his first real hunt to be over.

They began their slow progress back to Lallybroch as Jamie glanced about the woods trying to gauge where on the estate they might be. He finally chose a direction and began leading Brianna through the trees.

After a few minutes he held the rifle out to Brianna.

“Ian isna here,” he said. “Ye can have a proper go of it yerself.”

She hesitated for a second then took the rifle and the lead.

“Fowl?” she double-checked.

“Aye, unless we happen upon more deer though I dinna think that’s likely. They’ll lie low having heard the first shot,” he reasoned.

“But the birds won’t?”

“They’re more skittish. Dinna stay in one place long. I dinna think their memories stretch far enough back for them to keep their wariness.” He bent and picked up a few small sticks and pebbles. “They’re easier to scare out of hiding, too.”

He threw one of his projectiles ahead of them. It hit a tree and a bit of snow dropped from the higher branches followed by the flutter of a bird taking flight.

Brianna swiveled her head to search the canopy for the fleeing bird.

“Dinna bother,” Jamie advised. “It’s not worth the shot. Just a wee thing. Ye’ll hear the difference when it’s a pheasant or a grouse.”

She nodded and relaxed lowering the barrel of the rifle.

They continued on quietly for a while longer before Jamie finally spoke up again.

“Have ye thought more on what ye want the notice to say?”

Brianna’s foot landed on a twig, snapping it under her weight. There was a scurrying off to their side and both turned, Brianna bringing the rifle up ready but neither could spot the creature she’d disturbed.

“Remember to be sure I’m no in yer line of sight,” Jamie reminded her, reaching out and pushing the barrel of the gun further away from him. She hadn’t been pointing it at him but it was a bit too close for his comfort.

She apologized. “I have a few ideas written down,” she told him, moving forward once more. “Have you mentioned it to Mama yet?”

Jamie let out a low breathy laugh. “Aye. She didna take too kindly to it—as ye thought she might—but she understands yer feelings on the matter… as do I.”

Brianna didn’t speak but Jamie could tell it wasn’t for lack of having something to say.

“I went to France for _université_. I was… far from home and my family… It was an unfamiliar place—I kent the language from my lessons, but… strange nonetheless.”

“You could still write to them,” Brianna reminded him.

“I could—and I did. But yer mam has told me of yer telephones and efficient post. Ye’re no used to waiting so long… And when I went to France again—outlawed and blaming myself having heard of my father’s death, having believed unspeakable rumors of yer Auntie Jenny…” Jamie threw a sizeable stone into a cluster of bushes.

In a flash of snow and wings, several large birds squawked and dashed out of the breached shelter. They began flapping to take off before they were adequately free of the grasping branches, however, and the interference slowed them down long enough for Brianna to take her shot.

The force of the recoil caused her to slip on the wet forest floor. Jamie reached out to catch her arm and kept her from falling.

“Easy now,” he told her, taking the rifle with his free hand so she could steady herself on him with both hands.

“Thanks.” She glanced at the cluster of bushes but the chaos of a moment before had died down and the space appeared empty. She sighed. “I think I need something at least the size of a deer to even have a chance of hitting anything. No wonder the shotgun gets invented.”

“A shotgun?” Jamie asked with a cocked eyebrow as he walked forward and bent to the ground.

“It’s like grapeshot but from a gun more this size,” she explained. “And they have different sized pellets depending on what you’re hunting.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Pepper the area with more shot, ye’re more likely to hit something. Though… I think ye didna do as bad as ye think,” he remarked, pointing to a spot of blood and some scattered feathers.

“I hit one?” she exclaimed with surprise and a bit of pride.

“If ye did he’ll no have got far.”

Jamie rose and began listening intently. Brianna frowned as she strained to hear whatever it was they were listening for, her face brightening when she caught the faint sound of a bird struggling in the underbrush.

Brianna reached to begin reloading the rifle but Jamie held out a hand to caution her against it.

“Let’s see what state the creature’s in first,” he advised. “Ye may no need it and I dinna want ye rushing to reload when the barrel’s still so hot—easier to make a nasty mistake, ye ken?”

Brianna nodded and shifted the gun to her non-dominant hand. Jamie motioned for her to approach the wounded creature from one side while he approached from the other, blocking off its possibilities for escape.

When they spotted it, Brianna got behind it as Jamie slowly advanced.

It was a larger and older pheasant that Brianna had managed to wound in the fleshy part near the shoulder joint of one wing. The bird’s head already drooped with fatigue and blood loss. It appeared to know and have accepted its fate and Jamie began reaching for it, though it did gather its strength for one final defensive strike at Jamie’s hand. But Jamie’s other hand caught the bird around its neck, lifting it from the ground with a small fluttering of its feathers and a quiet screech. He saw Brianna with a smile both triumphant and sorrowful. Turning his back to her so she wouldn’t have to see, he quickly twisted the bird’s neck, snapping it easily and ending the creature’s suffering. It went limp in his hands. He said a quiet prayer of thanks for the bird’s sacrifice.

As Brianna crossed to him he tied the bird by its feet to make it easier to carry.

“I think we’ve done well enough, _a nighean_ ,” he told her. “Yer aunt will be happy for the feathers—she’s a pillow needs a bit more stuffing. And there’ll be a few fancy quills and decorative feathers ye can make use of too.”

He was rambling and they both knew it.

“I have to say,” Brianna spoke up wishing she could suppress the slight unsteadiness she detected in her voice, “I miss being able to go to the store to get meat. I think I understand some of my friends who were vegetarians better now.”

“There’s no need for hunting, then,” Jamie stated. “Claire had mentioned it becomes more _sport_ than a necessity. I… I have a hard time picturing shops large enough for all the food she says line the shelves—colored boxes with pictures on them and cases where food is stored that stay cold as ice, no matter the weather or time of year.”

“There’s a lot of it and it is easier,” she admitted longingly, “but this is all fresher and… I don’t know—more real, more natural. Being the one to… It certainly makes me appreciate each bite.”

“So ye didna know want, then,” Jamie murmured with quiet satisfaction. “Ye were spared an empty belly at least. And ye had a childhood free of worry.”

She wouldn’t have phrased it that way but then she thought back to her younger cousin. He wasn’t even ten yet and he’d already experienced death in ways she was still struggling to come to terms with herself; she would still consider him innocent in the ways that counted but it was nothing compared to what her own ignorance had been at his age.

“Yes,” she finally answered Jamie. “I did. But I’m glad I know how to do this for myself now. Under the right—well, _wrong_ —circumstances… I know now that I can do what’s necessary to keep myself fed.”

Jamie frowned and reached for the rifle. “Ye dinna need to ken how to do this here and now, either,” he insisted. “No unless ye want to learn and…”

“And I do,” she assured him. “I… like spending this time with you.”

“But ye still miss Frank. Did he teach ye anything like this?”

Brianna peeked at Jamie trying to assess how sincere his interest was—did he want the truth or was he looking for her to shrug it off?

“Well, we all went camping a few times but we brought our food with us so no, nothing quite like this.” He had taught her a bit about how to send hidden messages though—encrypting a second message within the first, invisible inks, coded words with alternate meanings.

She could put such a message into the notice Jamie had said they could print so that Frank would know to look for more from her; then she could cut her diary down to just the basics and embed it in other notices for him to find—a bare-bones transcription.

She sighed.

“It will reach him,” Jamie assured her. “Yer message—he’ll be sure to find it.”

“But I’ll have no way of knowing—not for sure,” she pointed out.

“Ye’ll need to have faith, then. Do ye believe he’ll look for ye?”

She wanted to believe it—he had looked for Jamie, after all, and there had been more reasons for Frank to avoid looking for him.

“Yes.”

“Then he’ll no stop until he finds yer message. Ye need to trust him. I ken it’s no easy to do, but there’s naught else ye can let yerself think that willna tear ye in two overthinking,” Jamie promised her.

“You believed that Mama and I were safe?”

“I had to. I couldna bear to think… And when it was hard to hold onto that faith… I prayed it would be so. And ye’ve said yerself that it was so,” he reminded her. “So ye see—ye’ll be rewarded for yer faith. Maybe no so clearly but He’ll find a way to let ye ken and put yer mind at ease.”

Comforted, they walked in silence the rest of the way back to Lallybroch, Brianna already at work on developing the code she would employ and the means by which she would sneak it into her message to Frank.


	18. Wedding Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter approaches which means it is also nearly time for Young Jamie's nuptials.

They went straight for the yard outside the kitchen with their haul so they could give Jenny and Mrs. Crook enough time to start on the stew while they skinned and prepared the meat. 

“That’ll be plenty for today but we need to start salting and setting aside what we can for next week,” Jenny reminded them and she resumed kneading her bread dough. “I’ll be needing all available hands in the kitchen come Friday,” she eyed Brianna. 

Brianna nodded rather than risk provoking her aunt. 

Jenny wouldn’t relax until the wedding was over. It amazed Brianna to watch her aunt at work. As the wedding approached, Jenny had shifted focus from one aspect of the preparation to the next. 

With the exception of Young Jamie’s bride, Joan, the Murray and Fraser women would all be wearing their Hogmanay dresses again with only the smallest of alterations to make them more comfortable for the warmer spring weather. Another of Claire’s Parisian gowns––saffron and cream silk––was refashioned for Joan to wear for her wedding, the skirts regathered and bustled so as not to require panniers. 

Joan’s gown settled but too many weeks to do more than just discuss the menu, Jenny had turned her attention to what the wedding would mean for the living arrangements at Lallybroch. Young Jamie had shared a room with Michael for years. Michael resisted the idea of sharing a room with his younger brother again, though Ian was quick to point out that with Janet and Brianna sharing a room of their own, his room could hardly be considered a proper nursery anymore. 

Still, though Young Jamie was nominally the owner of the estate, he hesitated to take over in a more substantial way––especially with his uncle, aunt, and cousin in prominent residence.

“Joan and I ought to have time and a place for ourselves,” he insisted to his parents, addressing his father when his mother began shaking her head stubbornly. “I’m no saying we’ll go far––just to a cottage on the estate. It willna be for long. Maggie and Kitty will be marrying soon enough and going to live wi’ their husbands. Michael will go to France for his schooling.”

Jenny had conceded rather than risk drawing Jamie and Claire into the discussion. The three extra Frasers had necessitated a reevaluation of what Young Jamie’s marriage would mean for Lallybroch. Thus far, Jamie had made no mention of seeking to have the estate restored to his side of the family; knowing Jamie, Jenny or Ian would need to approach him first.

Having given over the property willingly, Jamie wouldn’t feel right taking it back, willfully restored to him or not. It had been his duty, as laird, to ensure the estate and its tenants were cared for and in order to do that, it had been necessary to give it up. The pain of losing Lallybroch paled in comparison to losing Claire and their child. Given the choice of having only one unexpectedly restored to him, he much preferred falling asleep and waking up next to Claire, whatever roof may be over their heads. 

Still, it was a relief when the date of the wedding was close enough for Jenny’s attention to turn to the necessary food preparations instead. 

“What about Mama?” Brianna asked as she watched Jenny dice some root vegetables for Mrs. Crook to add to the large stew pot beginning to boil over the hot coals. “Have you sent her off for the herbs you’ll need?”

“Yer mother wasna feeling well so I sent her up to bed to rest a bit,” Jenny said with only a dash of annoyance. “I think her time at the Lindsays’ did her in. From what she said, it was a long night tending their boy through his fever.”

“You don’t think Mama took sick from him, do you?” Brianna worried. 

“No,” Jenny said with a more reassuring wave of her hand. “It’s naught she willna get past wi’ a bit of sleep and some food.”

Brianna looked to Jamie for further reassurance. He didn’t look as sanguine about Claire as Jenny did but he wasn’t rushing to her bedside to check on her either.

“Dinna just stand there,” Jenny exclaimed. “Get those rabbits skinned and prepared so they’ll be cooked through in time for supper.” 

Jamie and Brianna turned to head back outside with their catch. Jamie rolled his eyes as soon as his back was safely turned and Jenny could no longer see him. Brianna smiled and took the first rabbit, tying twine around its feet and stringing it up against the wall to begin her work. 


	19. Plenty to Argue About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A life changing revelation comes the night before young Jamie's wedding.

The hall was ready before they sat down for dinner the night before Young Jamie’s nuptials. The air of anticipation and festivity left everyone in an odd stasis as they sat before the fire in the hall, the night settling in around them.

“Are you anxious?” Fergus was sitting beside Young Jamie and gave him a playful nudge with his elbow.

Young Jamie flushed and looked at the glass of whisky in his hands before responding. “I dinna ken that it’s nerves, exactly, but I am ready for it to be over.”

Jenny rolled her eyes where Claire, Brianna, and Janet could see.

“He hasna had to lift a finger in the planning these six months, at the least,” she said addressing her remarks to her sister-in-law. “Doesna appreciate the planning women put into a wedding day.” She turned back to her son. “Yer bride willna thank ye for wishing the day behind ye like that.”

“I don’t feel that _I_ have much right to speak on the matter of arranging weddings,” Claire said with a grin and a glance at Jamie. “I offered no assistance in planning my own wedding.”

“Ye showed up,” Jamie smiled at her and raised his own glass of whisky to her. “Though there were a few minutes when I thought ye might turn tail and run just at the last… or faint dead away.”

“I saved that for _after_ the ceremony, as I recall.”

“Did ye no _want_ to marry Uncle Jamie?” Young Ian asked from his spot on the floor at his father’s feet. He was leaning against Ian the elder’s good leg, his eyes growing heavy. The turn of the conversation had piqued his interest, however, and his eyelids shot open wide giving him the appearance of startled bird.

Claire cleared her throat but Jamie jumped in before she could respond.

“Well, she didna have much time to know me ‘fore we wed, ye ken. Yer mam and da kent each other from the time they were yer age but yer Auntie Claire and I… It was little more than a month from the day we met till we were wed.”

With the exception of Jenny and Ian, no one had heard these details of the story before––even Brianna.

“A month?” she said with quiet disbelief beside Claire.

“The circumstances were… There were _legal_ reasons why I had to marry a Scot,” Claire did what she could to explain. “It was for my protection. _I_ had little choice in the matter. My groom, on the other hand, had a bit more leeway but chose to marry me anyway.”

Jamie turned to his youngest nephew speaking conspiratorially though his volume was loud enough for everyone to hear. “I kent I wanted to marry her right off but was in a poor position to be offering myself. Had to take the opportunity I was given as I didna think it likely she’d take me any other way.”

Claire rolled her eyes as she blushed.

“ _You_ did not plan the affair,” Fergus addressed Claire, “but there was _something_ to the day, no?”

“Jamie insisted we were married properly.”

“A priest, a church, a dress…” Jamie listed on his fingers. “Didna have time nor means for many guests but the MacKenzies were fair represented and Murtagh did for the Frasers.”

“What was yer dress like?” Janet asked leaning forward eagerly. She had been most eager to help Jenny with the alterations to the dress for Joan and lamented the fact that the dress Jenny had worn for her own wedding was long past worn out––even best dresses see a fair amount of use in twenty years’ time.

“It was borrowed,” Claire admitted.

“And ye were beautiful,” Jamie added in a dreamy tone. “I’ve yet to see a bride as lovely.”

“Women are never more beautiful than they are on the day they wed,” Fergus insisted with the air of universal truth.

But Jamie shook his head even as he smiled. “No,” he turned to his soon-to-be-married nephew, “yer wife will never be more beautiful to ye than the day ye learn she’s carrying yer child. It’ll fill yer heart to bursting.”

Young Jamie flushed but snuck a discreet glance at his father who smiled back with obvious agreement.

“She may no feel that way herself, ye ken,” Jamie continued, “so it’s up to _you_ to remind her. And when ye feel the bairn move…” he sighed. “Ye’d give yer life on the spot to be sure they both stay safe.”

Brianna nudged Claire softly. “I thought… you weren’t… he couldn’t have…” Brianna whispered, confused.

“It was too early when I left,” Claire confirmed. “However, I was much further along… when when I miscarried your sister Faith in Paris.” She had glossed over some of the details of what happened in Paris when she’d told Brianna about her years with Jamie before returning through the stones. It remained too painful to dwell on Faith so she mentioned her lost daughter as matter-of-factly as possible in her tale, assuring Brianna would be informed but was also likely to be overwhelmed with everything else.

Brianna nodded and let the matter drop but became more withdrawn as the conversation around them shifted to Jenny and Ian’s reminiscences on their own nuptials.

“It was a small affair,” Jenny said in her dismissive way, her attention on the bit of needlework in her hands. “Just the pair of us with Mrs. Crook and the stable boy to bear witness in the yard.”

“My father was there,” Ian reminded her.

Claire yawned audibly then excused herself. “You must excuse me.”

Jenny turned her gaze to her youngest son asleep on the floor. “Dinna fash. We’ve all of us a long day ahead––happy though it may be. Best head up early and rest up for it.”

“I’ll take him for ye,” Jamie offered, bending to raise Young Ian and carry him to bed.

The party dispersed, Ian and Jenny to see to the nightly chores before following the others upstairs to their respective rooms.

Claire went straight to her and Jamie’s bedroom and paced as she began worrying at the laces of her bodice. She managed to work the knot tighter than it had been so that she was thoroughly exasperated by the time Jamie slipped in, shutting and locking their door behind him.

As soon as their privacy was assured, she spun on him and hissed, “How long have you known?”

Jamie crossed his arms over his chest.

“How long have _you_ known, Sassenach?” he countered.

The knot came loose and she pulled the laces roughly, letting her pent up frustration out on the unfortunate bodice.

“I don’t,” she insisted, freeing her arms and turning her back on him to untie her skirts. “Not for certain. I’m hardly as young as I was so there’s a chance it might just be––”

“Claire,” Jamie interrupted as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. “You and I both ken what ye’re like when ye’re wi’ child. We’re no so young as when ye carried Faith or Brianna, but we’re no _that_ old yet.”

Claire sighed as she folded her skirts and put them aside for the morning. “I know.”

“So when _were_ ye planning to tell me?” he asked, his tone softening. His breeks fell to the floor and he stepped out of them.

“When there could be no doubt,” she told him, a smile creeping into her voice as she rested her hand on her thickening middle––it wasn’t a noticeable bulge yet but she shouldn’t keep lacing them so tightly.

“The wean’s no quickened yet?” Jamie asked crossing to unlace Claire’s stays. He kissed her cheek as he slipped her stays off leaving her in just her shift.

Claire shrugged her shoulders and relaxed, reaching for Jamie’s hand and brought it to rest gently on her abdomen. “Not yet. Should be soon though, assuming he or she was conceived around Christmas or Hogmanay as I believe.”

She felt Jamie smile into her hair, undoubtedly recalling the same rustle of red silk and the damp chill of the stable air on their warm, straining bodies that came to her mind.

They stood quietly like that for several long moments, Jamie's arms around Claire, her hands on his.

She could feel a change in the way he held her and knew immediately what it meant.

“Don’t, Jamie,” she said, cutting him off before he could start. “Don’t even bother saying it.”

“I dinna _want_ ye to,” he argued, “but ye _have_ to––it’s what’s safest for both of ye.”

“I’m not bloody going back and that’s the end of it,” Claire told him forcefully, breaking from his embrace and crossing to her vanity table to pull the pins from her hair.

“Ye nearly died wi’ Faith and ye said yerself that carrying Bree was dangerous for ye, even in yer own time.” He stomped around barefooted wearing only his shirt, kicking his boots under the bed. “The only thing worse than losing ye to the stones again would be losing _both_ of ye like that.”

Claire clenched her teeth, watching him in the mirror and reaching for the hairbrush to take her frustration out on an awkwardly placed knot near the base of her skull.

Something went out of Jamie and he wound up sitting on his side of the bed, staring past Claire towards the fire in the hearth.

“I’m near his age…” he observed flatly, his tone worrying Claire and drawing her direct gaze. “My da… when my mam died wi’ Robert.” He looked up and met her sympathetic eye. “Ye’re older than she was, though. And ye’ve had more trouble than she did to start.”

Claire set her brush down and went back to him, standing in front of him so that their toes just touched on the floor.

“I know the risks and I promise to be as careful as possible,” she assured him, “but I’m not doing this without you again. We’re not living in Paris trying to change things and the worst of the Red Coats’ terrorizing the Highlands is past as well.”

Jamie let her talk but she watched the way his head swayed, not quite shaking with an insistent ‘no’ but still superficially resistant. Claire reached out and stroked his cheek until he looked up at her. He brought his hand up to cover hers as he fought to control his expression.

She smiled gently. “This is something that’s supposed to bring us together––not drive us apart again. I want to do this _with_ you––all of it.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, her shift dropping away from her body and reaching towards his. “I want to see you hold our newborn child in your arms.” Her lips brushed his softly and she felt a sigh of submission sweep through his body.

“I feel I ought to make ye,” he confessed, “but I dinna want to do wi’out ye again––I dinna think I could stand it.”

“I _know_ I couldn’t.”

Jamie pulled Claire with him as he lay back on the bed.

“I’ll no mention it again,” he promised, pulling her close.

“Good.” She rested her hand on his chest. “Besides… there are plenty of other things to do with the baby that we can argue about between now and when he’s born.”

“ _He_?” She could hear Jamie’s raised eyebrow.

“Or she,” Claire added nonchalantly.

“Twice now I’ve assumed it would be a lad only for it to turn out a lass. I’ll no be makin’ that mistake again,” he muttered reaching down and rubbing his finger over her stomach.

“How am I going to tell Bree?” Claire whispered.

Jamie stiffened beside her.

“I’m pretty sure Jenny’s already guessed though she hasn’t brought it up with me yet.”

“If she knows––which I’m sure she does––then it’s a fair bet Ian knows as well,” Jamie admitted. “But they’ll no say anything about it until ye’re–– _we’re_ ––ready.”

“ _I_ have to be the one to tell Bree,” Claire said decidedly.

“Ye dinna want me with ye when ye tell her?”

Claire ducked her head so Jamie couldn’t see her face. “I don’t think so. She… she doesn’t react well to change and this… For it to happen so quickly… and at our age––I know, we’re not _that_ old but in her eyes…”

“Aye. She’s of an age when ye dinna want to think of yer parents in… _that_ way,” he agreed. “And ye’re right about it happening fast. It’s certainly no something I was thinking about when I found ye here.”

“Me either. I did think about the possibility but didn’t want to make any decisions without consulting you first.” She chuckled. “I didn’t expect there wouldn’t be time to discuss it.”

“There was no way we were goin’ to discuss it before we lay together and there was no chance we’d stop once we started,” Jamie admitted, a smile creeping into his voice as his fingers trailed up the front of her shift to her breasts.

She reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers, hitching her leg up so that her knee nudged the hem of his shirt up his thighs. It kept him modestly covered only until he became aroused, which was quickly becoming the case.

He broke away. “Do ye really think it’s safe? Ye said that in Paris but then…”

“What happened with Faith didn’t happen because we made love,” Claire assured him, shifting her weight and straddling him. He lifted himself enough to scoot the two of them back toward the middle of the bed. “I promise that if I show any warning signs whatsoever, I’ll put myself on bedrest.” She bent over him and kissed him again. “And you’ll be in charge of making sure I stay there.”

“Mmm. Though, if ye were on bedrest we’d no be spendin’ it this way.”

He ran his hands up her thighs, pushing her shift up to her waist. She reached between her legs to where he was already straining to enter her and guided him the rest of the way before groaning and sinking onto him. His hold on her hips tightened reflexively as he let his head drop back on the coverlet.

Claire rocked back and forth, her thighs burning with the strain of her efforts but it was a burning that only made her more aware of the sensation she was chasing, that only made the release that was promised more worth pursuing. Jamie’s hands continued to inch up her legs and around to take firm hold of her fleshy buttocks, only loosening his grip long enough to pull at her shift and raise it up in a motion to take it off her.

He had to raise himself up to do it and the action brought Claire back to the moment, back to him and to them. Without her shift between them, she became even more aware of the way his rough homespun felt against her skin and the sheen of sweat that was building between them. She hastily tugged at his shirt as well until it was just the two of them in contact along the lengths of their bodies. They slowed their movements until they were both aware of each beat of their hearts, synchronizing until they could just about sense the beat of a third––though faint––in the spaces between their own.

* * *

 

Claire woke before Jamie as the predawn light in the room began to cast new shadows. They’d made it under their blankets but hadn’t bothered to draw the bed curtains.

Jamie’s warm hand rested below Claire’s breasts at the peak of where her belly would soon begin to swell outward more noticeably. She peeked over at him though she knew that if he’d felt it too he would have stirred already. Still she took his hand and slid it a little lower to where she was convinced she’d felt the fluttering that had woken her.

A moment later she felt it again and smiled before pulling the blankets further up around her chin to seal in the warmth of the moment and willing it to last, willing the bubble not to burst… willing Brianna to be happy about the news while preparing herself for the worst.


	20. A Single Light in the Strand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire tells Brianna she's pregnant and Brianna reflects on what it will mean for her.

At first Brianna thought that it was just sentimentality stirred up by Jamie and Joan’s wedding. Her aunt and uncle appeared to be just as affected as her parents. But after her cousin and his new bride had settled into a cottage of their own and the residents at Lallybroch had reshuffled accordingly, Brianna still had the sense that there was something else going on that was preventing the newest adjustments to their lives from taking hold. 

“Brianna,” her mother surprised her by interrupting her morning lessons. “I’m going out to restock my supplies. I could do with an extra pair of hands and eyes if you’re interested.”

Though it wasn’t a task Brianna particularly cared for, she could tell from her mother’s tone and the uncomfortable set of her mouth that there was more to the offer than just gathering herbs. 

“Sure. I’ll meet you in the yard in a few minutes,” she responded, reaching to set her quill aside and begin closing up her books. 

Claire nodded, distracted and moved to gather the tools the two of them would need for their task. With a last glance at Janet, who gave her cousin a shrug before turning back to her own French lesson, Brianna headed through the kitchen to where her mother was busy wrapping a shawl about her shoulders with a pair of baskets and trowels at her feet. 

“Anything in particular we’re looking for?” Brianna asked as they passed her herb garden. 

It was early in the season but Claire had plans for expansion now that it was her domain once more so they would be hunting for seedlings to transplant. 

“I think we’ll do best to simply see what we find.”

“What you find,” Brianna quipped. “I’m not going to be able to tell one thing from another. Is there poison ivy in Scotland? Cause if there is, I’m sure I’ll pull it up with both hands if you leave it up to me to pick and choose.”

Claire rolled her eyes but with amusement. “You never did get that nature badge when you were in scouts.”

It was quiet as mother and daughter knelt in the dirt and picked their way through the underbrush. The damp of winter remained in the detritus at their feet, encouraging and aiding the plant matter in its rotting. Sprigs of vibrant green broke up the dull greys and browns of decomposition. Hopeful tendrils poked through towards the sky to claim their share of the sunlight while the trees’ leaves were still beginning to unfurl; soon their greedy adolescence would take over and they would crowd each other out in pursuit of the sun’s nourishing attentions. 

“Are you going to tell me what it is you wanted to talk about?” Brianna finally asked. 

“What?” Claire started. 

“There’s gotta be some reason you wanted us to have privacy like this.”

“Well… yes. There is something I need to tell you…”

Brianna leaned back on her heels and looked at her mother. Claire was pointedly looking at the ground in front of her, avoiding her daughter’s gaze.

“He told you, didn’t he?” Brianna guessed, interrupting Claire’s thoughts. “Da. He told you about the notice he helped me put in the paper for Daddy to find.”

“What? No––I mean––your father  _ did _ tell me about that,” Claire confessed. “But that’s not––”

“I wasn’t sure how to tell you,” Brianna went on, taking her trowel and stabbing the ground with it absentmindedly. “I just… needed him to know I was okay.”

“That’s…” Claire sighed and shifted, sitting on her skirt instead of trying to crouch. “Of course you would want him to know you’re all right and I’m sorry that I couldn’t think of a better way to… to handle everything as far as coming here,” she apologized. 

“It’s okay,” Brianna insisted. “I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d told me the truth and… I’m glad I came. I miss Daddy but… this is all… it’s pretty incredible.”

“You’re happy here?” Claire asked, gladly following the tangent Brianna had laid out rather than work back to what she’d brought them there to say.

Brianna shrugged. “I guess. I mean… I’ll always miss Daddy. But there’s no way for him to get here and if he did that would be…” She shook her head, the idea of Frank appearing at Lallybroch out of the blue too incongruous to be taken seriously. 

“There’s a lot more to hold you here than you first thought,” Claire suggested. 

The way Claire said it caught Brianna’s attention but she kept her eyes on the blade of her trowel. The damp earth clung to the rough metal. Moisture had set the blade rusting in a few places. They ought to have given the trowels a good going-over before taking them out to use them; a stone could scrape away at the rusty patches and keep the oxidation from spreading and weakening the metal. 

“The family you have here is growing,” Claire said, realizing a moment too late that Brianna might mistake her meaning with her cousin’s wedding so recently passed. “I’m pregnant,” she clarified.

Brianna’s brow furrowed slowly as Claire’s meaning sank in. “Pregnant?”

Claire nodded and Brianna looked away again, staring into the woods like she was searching for a bird in a distant tree. 

“How long?” Brianna finally asked.

“Oh, uh… how long till the baby’s due or how long have I known?” Claire asked back.

“How long have you been trying to have another kid?” Brianna clarified. 

“We weren’t, actually,” Claire responded, confused by Brianna’s tone. “With how long it took before and… well, neither your father nor myself is as young as we were… It wasn’t something we’d really thought much about––and we certainly hadn’t spoken about it. Sometimes these things just happen… or do you and I need to have  _ the talk _ again?” Claire teased. 

Brianna wasn’t amused or consoled. 

“But it’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it? A second chance with him?” she lashed out driving the trowel deep into the dirt at her feet. She struck a root and the impact caused her hand to tingle painfully. 

“A second chance for  _ all _ of us, yes,” Claire emphasized. “But this… it  _ isn’t _ what we planned but it’s not unwelcome either.”

“Whatever,” Brianna said, rising suddenly and tossing the trowel into her basket. “Congratulations, I guess. I promised Janet I’d help her with her mathematics lessons earlier. I should head back,” she lied turning on her heel before her mother could even get up from the ground. 

“Bree!” Claire called after her but Brianna had already pushed through the brush further and faster than Claire would be able to move to catch her up. She sighed heavily and struggled up from her aching knees rubbing a hand along the back of her neck. “That went well,” she muttered sarcastically to no one in particular before realizing there was someone around to listen. She brought her soil-stained hand to her belly. The last few days she’d been wearing her stays looser and felt as though the small swell of the new child had grown quickly in response. “Though, for a Fraser, I suppose, it could’ve been worse.”

* * *

 

Brianna was about halfway back to the house before she stopped and headed off in a different direction. She didn’t want to see anyone just then––especially her father. 

Consciously, she knew she wasn’t being fair but at the same time she didn’t care. She was angry and hurt and she didn’t quite know why yet but she could feel something had been let loose, something that she hadn’t realized had been building for some time. 

She wanted to scream but instead she wandered. At some point it occurred to her that she could very easily get lost in the woods, even having spent so much time hunting with her father during the winter months. The bursts of green vegetation that had appeared in just the last few weeks changed the way everything looked. They obscured the look of things from where she stood, blocking her view and restricting her ability to gauge where she was, to orient herself in a meaningful way. Turning in a slow circle three times she lost her patience with trying to figure it out and simply picked a direction and resumed walking. Her mother would probably send out a search party when she realized Brianna hadn’t made it back to the house.

Brianna told herself that her mother was telling the truth––there was no reason for her to doubt it––they hadn’t been  _ trying _ to have another kid but did that really change anything? In less than a year since coming through the stones and her parents reuniting they would have a new child together––a child they could raise  _ together,  _ a child that would have the life they had wanted for  _ her _ but which they hadn’t been able to give her. 

That, too, wasn’t their fault and she didn’t regret the childhood she’d had… but it was gone––and gone in a way that she hadn’t expected. Obviously, childhood was something everyone lost touch with as they grew older, but most people still had some tangible connection to it––the toys they’d played with stored in a box in the attic, the friends they’d played with who could remember incidents with them, and when those more direct links weren’t nearby, there was at least the people of her generation who could understand and relate to the broader strokes of what her childhood had been like because theirs had followed a similar pattern.

But not here. Not in this time. 

In this time and place, the only connection she had to her former life was her mother and every day it became clearer and clearer how much her mother’s time in the twentieth century had been… not hollow, exactly, but not completely there. Her mother didn’t belong in the twentieth century, she belonged with Jamie. But where did  _ she _ belong? 

All of a sudden, Brianna recognized where she was. The ground ahead of her rose steadily, the angle increasing drastically until she came to the outcropping where the entrance to her father’s cave was shielded from sight by the trees. 

She slipped through the entrance and into the damp dark of the cave. Jamie had spent years in there imagining what kind of life his wife and child were leading, praying they were safe. 

Her parents weren’t  _ replacing  _ her; she knew that and knew they would both go to great lengths in the days, weeks, and months ahead to reassure her on that point. But she would still have to watch as that child took its first steps towards Jamie; as their mother soothed its scraped knees and bruised foreheads; as he or she learned to talk and slipped between English and the Gáidhlig with an ease she would never manage. 

Brianna’s earliest memories were of the holidays when she was very young. Her mother hadn’t gone to medical school yet and her father––Frank––was usually through teaching for the semester by the middle of December. As soon as his grades were turned in they would spend several days decorating the house for Christmas, her English parents diving headlong into the American’s habits of going over-the-top. The lights and the tree were what she remembered clearest; lying on the floor and looking up at the electric lights peeking from between the evergreen boughs and reflecting off the nearby ornaments. They had a distinctive smell when they got too hot and her mother would remind them not to leave it plugged in too long for fear the tree would ignite and burn the house down. It was a ritual of sorts, pulling out the strings of lights and plugging them in to find the burnt out bulbs and replace them. In some cases it took an hour to find the right bulb in the circuit that would magically re-illuminate the whole strand. 

She would sit in Frank’s lap on the floor and speculate as to which bulb it was while he screwed and unscrewed bulb after bulb. She made him put the colors into specific patterns and he would always oblige, thrilled that she was bright enough to devise them at such a young age. 

What would her new sibling’s earliest memories be? Not electric lights or Christmas trees, of that she was certain. The grounds of the estate, the animals, and the people, most likely. Jamie’s laugh, Claire’s smile… the racket of a house full of family. 

Brianna went back to the front of the cave and sat with her back against the stones of the entrance. One of her legs fell in the shadows of the cave’s interior while the other sat in the warm sunlight shining through the break in the canopy overhead. 

She was calmer now, at least, but no less sure of how she felt about her mother’s news.

* * *

 

Claire returned to the house with only a few seedlings in her basket––she had been too distracted by the scene with Brianna to concentrate on the task at hand. She marched through the kitchen and right into her still room where she put the pitiful basket on the table. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t bothered to dig up more; she lacked the will to plant what she had and these would likely die before it returned and she got them in the ground. 

Jenny appeared in the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought ye took Brianna wi’ ye.”

Claire sighed. “I did. She said she was coming back to the house but I suspected she might head off somewhere else first.”

“Do ye want me to have Jamie fetched to find her?” Jenny offered.

Claire shook her head. “I’m sure she’ll be back before too long. She needs a while alone to… digest some… some news,” Claire amended, remembering she hadn’t officially told Jenny yet either.

But her suspicions had been correct.

“Ye told her of the bairn, then,” Jenny speculated with a satisfied grin. “I can only imagine how she must ha’ taken  _ that _ news. Angry was she?”

“Not exactly,” Claire said, stretching as much as her restrictive stays would allow––she was getting sore from spending so much time on her feet and the awkwardness of kneeling on the ground as she’d done her digging. “I’d say she was more hurt and surprised than angry. It’s remarkable how closely those can appear when it comes to how she expresses them.”

Jenny waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the natural way of things. No first child or only child wants to share their parents whether they’re four or fourteen. She’ll come round soon enough.”

“I hope you’re right,” Claire said doubtfully. Jenny had no way of knowing just how far from ‘the natural way of things’ Brianna’s situation was.

“When do ye suppose ye’re due?”

Claire felt Jenny’s shrewd gaze evaluating the conditions of her changing body. She flushed and brought her hand to her stomach. “Early autumn––September, I expect.”

“I dinna ken which Jamie I’d be more pleased to see wi’ a bairn of his own in his arms,” Jenny said by way of congratulations.

“It probably won’t be long before you find out.” 

“It will be good to have weans about the place again.” Jenny finally crossed the threshold into the still room and began sorting through the seedlings in Claire’s basket, separating and sorting the plants. “Ian’s grown out of the wee stages now and into the troublesome stages.”

“I always thought the troublesome stages for boys began when they learnt to crawl,” Claire observed. 

Jenny laughed. “True enough that’s when the trouble starts, but it’s no usually trouble that gets out of hand at that age. It’s no till they’ve earned themselves a few good hidings and start trying to cover their mistakes and foolishness that the  _ real _ trouble arises. They dinna seek help when they ought and what was easily fixed becomes a snarled mess of a problem.”

“But then, girls manage to find their own ways of causing trouble.” 

Jenny chuckled in agreement. “Ye look a bit pale, Claire. I’ll send Janet to help ye get these in the ground. If there’s no sign of Brianna by midday, ye might want to consider sending someone to search for her. She’s no so familiar with the woods that she’s above getting herself lost.”

“All right,” Claire consented as Jenny turned to leave.

As it happened, Brianna returned home while Claire was explaining what had happened to Jamie. The two of them were seated on the steps leading up to the door while young Ian played a game that involved chasing and herding chickens around obstacles he set around the yard––“the dogs are too easy,” he’d explained, “but the birds dinna want to be doin’ wha’ they’re asked so it’s a challenge.”

They rose when they saw her coming but their movement spooked her and she went around to the back rather than have to speak with them just then. 

“At least we know she’s safe,” Claire muttered. Jamie’s arm slipped around her waist so he could pull her close and kiss her temple. 

Brianna was quiet through dinner that night and Jamie and Claire half-expected her to head straight to bed for the night but at the usual time they heard her knock on the door. 

“I don’t want to read tonight,” she said quickly. “I just… There’s something I need to tell you.”

Brianna was wringing her hands behind her back as her mother took a seat and Jamie stood at her side, reaching down to rest a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Claire’s hand drifted up to find his and offer support to him in return. 

“I’ve thought a lot about what you told me earlier, Mama,” Brianna began her rehearsed speech. “I… I want to start by apologizing for how I reacted. I shouldn’t have just run off like that––the last thing you need right now is to have to worry about me.”

“It’s fine, Bree,” Claire tried to speak up but Brianna motioned for them to wait till she was through; she dreaded losing her place and being forced to start over or deviate from her script.

“I want you to know that I’m not unhappy for you, that the idea of having a brother or sister isn’t one I thought about a lot when I was little… But this… It’s forced me to face some things I’ve been pushing aside for a while now.”

Claire’s hand tightened on Jamie’s.

“I like it here and obviously, I love you both and don’t want to do anything to hurt you… but I miss it back home,” Brianna continued, fighting against the lumps in her throat and chest, struggling to keep her voice to a reasonable volume as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. “I miss Boston; I miss my friends, my school… And I miss Daddy.” She choked on the last words and had to look away from Jamie as heat flooded her face. She hated to say it in front of him but whether she admitted it or denied it, she felt like she was betraying someone she loved.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look up again and face them properly. “Mama, I understand now what you were talking about when we first came through the stones… about how you can’t really make a choice until you try both. And you were right––it isn’t an easy decision to make––but you also promised me that if I wanted to go back, you’d let me––you said you’d bring me back to the hill yourself.”

Her parents were pale but didn’t look entirely surprised. 

“I want to go back.”


	21. Solomon's Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie react to Brianna's declaration.

Claire and Jamie lay side-by-side in bed that night, unable to sleep and so far unwilling to talk about Brianna’s declaration. 

Instead, Claire was on her back under the covers with her shift rucked up under her breasts so that Jamie could rest his palm on the bare skin already beginning to tighten and stretch over her growing belly. The light flutterings had increased in frequency and intensity but Jamie hadn’t yet been able to detect them. 

Whenever she felt something, Claire moved Jamie’s hand accordingly. 

It occurred to her that she hadn’t really done this when she was pregnant with Brianna. She hadn’t let Frank back into her bed until after Brianna’s birth and throughout her pregnancy she had shied from his touch. There had been no one else caressing her belly, no foot rubs or shoulder massages, no one kneading her back when the weight of Brianna’s growing body caused her own to ache. And Claire hadn’t been terribly enthusiastic about those nudges from within either. They reminded her of what she had to live for but also of her loss; they filled her with fear that she would fail again, that her body wouldn’t prove strong enough to carry a new child with any more success than she had with Faith, that she would disappoint Jamie in his final wishes. 

Something about Brianna hadn’t been real until she’d been born and Claire held her in her arms, a squirming, wailing, red thing that was too needy to be feared, too tangible to be dismissed. And while Claire still hesitated when Frank got to close, there was too much Brianna needed that Claire couldn’t always provide immediately as she healed and recovered from the birth, forcing Frank to help hold and care for Brianna. It had forged a bond between them early and deep. Brianna had eventually been the bridge that brought Frank back to Claire––if not entirely the other way around. 

Seeing him with Brianna had been bittersweet for Claire, beyond the simple, sharp pain of Jamie’s loss. Claire had once wanted a family with Frank and occasionally found herself overwhelmed with guilt over the way she had given him up for Jamie––abandoned him without thinking of or trying to find a way to at least let him know something of what had happened to her. She had told him the truth about Jamie, trying to make her feelings clear but Frank’s affection for Brianna had been more important to him than whatever indifference Claire tried to convince him of on her part; if he felt resentment toward Claire, its seeds had been sown in those difficult conversations soon after returning when the loss of Jamie was a fresh wound. Frank’s joy at her return buoyed him through her harsh assertions but that joy faded with time and he sank slowly into the reality of what she’d meant. 

But Brianna had existed and grown outside of the shadows of Claire’s marriage to Frank––she and Frank had both done everything they could to keep her ignorant of them and they’d been successful. Brianna had flourished and her relationship with Frank… What had she been thinking, tearing Brianna from Frank like that? She had been unceremoniously torn from Frank herself; she remembered the desperation of her early days at Leoch, scrambling to find a means of escape, a way back to the stones and to Frank. Time and Jamie had changed her. Had she been expecting for Brianna to change as much as she had?

She sighed. Perhaps she had––or if not expected it, she’d hoped for it. And to a degree, Brianna appeared to have done just that. There was an undeniable maturity in Brianna now that hadn’t been present when they first made their way through the stones and then along the road to Lallybroch. The way she had approached them with her request, laying out her reasoning with the care and precision of a decision not undertaken lightly. In some ways, knowing how much thought Brianna had put into everything made her request to go back sting all the more. 

“Ah!” Jamie exclaimed reaching out to press his other hand to her abdomen too. “I think…” He looked up at her with amazement. “Was that…? Or did I just imagine it?”

“Hmm? Oh,” she glanced down to the bulge where the blankets concealed their bodies from the cool air; spring had come but the nights were still too cool to abandon the covers completely. “Yes––I mean, no, you didn’t imagine it; that was exactly what you thought it was.”

Jamie grinned and turned his attention back to the bairn in her belly. He spoke the Gáidhlig slowly but it was too soft and low for Claire to follow. His tone was somber though, so she suspected he too was thinking about Brianna and her desire to leave. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie.” She said it quietly but it startled him nonetheless. “Brianna… It’s all my fault.”

“What are ye on about, Sassenach?” Jamie asked with disbelief. 

“If I had found a better way of doing things… If I had––”

“Hush,” Jamie interrupted. His warm hands travelled up her body and around her waist in order to pull her against him. “Ye did what ye thought was right and fair.”

Claire scoffed.”Did I?”she questioned doubtfully.

“No,” Jamie agreed gently as his hold on her tightened. “But I’ll no be the one to judge ye for it. I’ll be forever grateful to ye for coming back to me, for bringing Brianna with ye and giving me a chance to know her. Ye’ve done well with her, Sassenach.”

Claire felt his lips brush her forehead lightly and tilted her face up beneath his, inviting a proper kiss and sighing as he obliged.

The truth of the points Brianna had carefully delineated settled on her mind, calming her thoughts for the moment.

She and Jamie  _ would  _  be all right; they had each other and, much as they would miss Brianna and worry about her, they would have each other. Claire wasn't as convinced by Brianna's certainty that Frank needed her because he had no one. But now was not the time to bring up Frank's indiscretions; regardless of whether or where Frank had sought comfort, he would be beside himself with joy and relief to see Brianna again. Brianna would be all right with Frank. 

“We’ll find a way to be wi’ her still, Sassenach,” Jamie promised, “and to keep a part of her wi’ us. She’s no one to forget and neither are we. We’ll be sure to leave something behind so she can find her way back to us again.”

She twined her fingers with Jamie’s on her bare belly. His thumb was rubbing small circles into the tightening skin.

“You think she’ll come back?”

“She’s no rid of what ties her to that time––ye had them yerself for a time. She canna rid herself of them while she’s here and perhaps I flatter myself in thinking it, but she’s ties here in this time now, too; they’ll be no less easy to be rid of.”

Claire wiped at tears on her cheek. “I don’t want her feeling pulled in two directions. I hate the fact that she’s hurting and I can’t do anything to make her feel better.”

“But ye can and ye are,” Jamie insisted, his own voice thick. “We can let her go––we’ll no fight her on it, not make her feel guilty for choosing the way she has. Ye ken Solomon’s Judgment, aye?” 

“Knowing it’s the right thing to do doesn’t make it easier to let her go,” Claire pointed out. 

“No… it doesn’t,” Jamie agreed. “But ye pray for the strength to do it anyway and when she’s gone… ye pray that she might be safe––every day ye pray…”

There was something in the way Jamie spoke that tugged at Claire so that she rolled until she faced him, her hand drifting up to his cheek and her thumb tracing the prominent line of the cheekbone he had given to Brianna. 

He leaned his forehead down to rest against hers, both of them closing their eyes for a moment of mutual understanding. Then Jamie kissed her, softly at first but deepening as she pressed herself against him.

She welcomed the sure warmth of him between her legs as they sought and offered comfort to one another, coming together and filling each other’s gaps and hollow spaces until they were both of them whole once more. 

They would be all right. 


	22. An Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone prepares for Jamie and Claire to escort Brianna to Inverness.

Young Ian sat on the edge of Brianna’s bed while she folded her things into the trunk her father had made for her.

“How long are ye goin’ for?” he inquired. “Ye’ll no want to be gone sae long wi’ the bairn coming.”

“I don’t know,” Brianna replied, keeping her head down as she flushed with guilt over her lies.

It had taken a week and a half for her and her parents to devise a means of getting her away from Lallybroch and explaining her coming absence. Once she was gone it would be up to them to decide what to do about her prolonged silence. 

A letter had been written and “received” from old friends of Claire’s in Boston––friends who had been of great assistance when she first arrived and as Brianna had grown. Trying not to concoct a lie too elaborate to remember, Claire had conjured the Graham family who desperately needed assistance of their own now, preferably in the form of Brianna as a governess and nursemaid for the younger children in the wake of the death of their father and grandmother. 

“Ye’ll at least write and tell me all about what Boston is like,” Ian pressed. “More than what ye’ve already said of it, that is. Ye’ll have been gone near a year by the time ye get there; it’s bound to have changed since then, bein’ a grand city and all. No like Lallybroch; nothin’ ever changes here,” he lamented kicking his feet in the air above the floor. 

“My parents and me showing up out of the blue not change enough for you?” she teased. “What about your brother getting married?”

Ian shrugged. “Aye, I suppose. I’ll no be the youngest much longer. Mam says it’s just a matter of time ‘fore Jamie and Joan have bairns and Maggie already has plans for her wedding when Paul Lyle gets around to askin’ her. I dinna ken that I want so many bairns about. All they do is fuss and make a mess.”

Brianna smiled. “What would you know of bairns?”

“I ken they’re trouble,” he said defensively before she watched his face light up with hope. “If ye stay in Boston long enough, maybe Mam and Da will let me go to stay wi’ ye! They’ll no let me go wi’ ye now––no when ye’re to stay wi’ friends of yer mam’s an’ they dinna ken me from Adam––but if ye wed and yer man allows it…”

Brianna felt the blood drain from her face even as she laughed nervously. “You’re putting the cart before the horse there, bud,” she told him as she shook out a skirt forgetting she had just finished folding it a moment before. The thought of her meeting someone and getting married anytime soon was so utterly ridiculous she had to laugh. But the thought of what the wedding Ian envisioned for her would be like also caused her chest to seize painfully. Whenever she did marry, someone would be left out; if not Mama and Da, then Daddy. 

She pushed the painful thought aside in favor of the more pressing and slightly less agonizing issue of Ian’s obvious intentions to keep in touch with her. 

One of the first things she and her parents had worked through was a way for them to let her know how they were doing; adapting the ideas she and Jamie had for leaving messages for Frank, Brianna was sure to find them since she would know where to look. But that was a means of communication that went in only one direction and was subject to the will of time. She had no way to let them know in return when she made it safely through or when she had found Frank again. 

And now she had her younger cousin thinking he would be able to write to her. She would need to let her parents know; perhaps they would be able to write to him for her… flesh out the life they had painted for her in Boston with the Grahams. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint Ian.

When they had first announced her intention to leave and the fictional reasons behind it, her aunt and uncle had been visibly disappointed but vocally supportive––more demonstratively so towards her parents. For the most part her cousins had taken the news in stride; she hadn’t been there long enough and her older cousins, especially, were too caught up in shaping the paths their own lives would take to concern themselves too much with hers. But Janet had been devastated and stopped speaking to her and took to turning over in bed so that she faced away from Brianna and could more easily ignore Brianna’s attempts at conversation. 

Young Ian, though he’d expressed his sorrow at losing his long-lost cousin, seemed more disappointed that Brianna would be having an adventure without him. He chattered away as she packed her things and prepared for the journey to Inverness with her parents; they would continue on to Edinburgh after seeing her to the stones in order to buy the necessary items from Jenny and Ian’s list and complete the illusion. 

“Well? Can I come stay wi’ ye someday?” Ian asked again more insistently. “I promise I’ll help ye and I’ll be a perfect guest.”

She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Ian’s eager face again, hearing the enthusiasm and mischief in the tales he told of his daily adventures; so she chose to believe in the Grahams and her visit to colonial Boston rather than face the truth. 

“We’ll have to wait and see what state everyone is in when I arrive and how long it takes for me to get everything sorted. Besides, you have a bit more growing to do before your parents will even dream of letting you near a ship on your own.  _ But _ … someday… perhaps,” she told him, determined in that moment to believe she would keep her promise. 

* * *

“You need to sit and rest more frequently,” Claire instructed Ian as she examined the red and agitated stump of his leg.

“It’s only this bad because it’s planting time,” he informed her, avoiding her skeptical gaze. “In a week or two when everything’s safe in the ground, I’ll no be on my feet sae much and it’ll be better.”

Claire pulled cloths from an herbal bath she had them soaking in and loosely wrung them; they needed to be damp but not dripping. Carefully she wrapped Ian’s leg in the damp strips and listened to his sigh of relief with a smile. 

“It’s because Jamie’s back, isn’t it,” she said. “He’s out there helping with the planting so you’ve been heading out there with him to help as well.”

“No,” Ian objected, sitting himself up straighter in the chair.

“I’ll bet the last few years you only went out if young Jamie asked you to look at something; you let him, Fergus, and Rabbie manage the planting and haven’t had to be up and about on your own as much.”

Ian shook his head but wore a knowing smile that told Claire she’d hit the nail on the head. 

“And what of you,” he said as she got up off her knees and stretched placing a hand at her lower back and massaging the places that were only going to get more and more sore as her pregnancy wore on. “Are ye really proposing to go all the way to Inverness?”

“I do intend,” she informed him sitting in her own chair and resting a hand on the growing swell of her belly. She was beginning to show and since she’d told Brianna they had let the rest of the family know as well. “We’ll be there and back before it becomes too difficult for me to travel and we’ll be taking the wagon at any rate; I won’t be up on a horse or anything too risky.”

“And ye’re no going aboard ship wi’ the lass,” he agreed. 

“No,” Claire said with a sad smile. “Jamie couldn’t stomach it and I won’t go anywhere without him.”

“Ye must be worrit for the lass. Ye think she’s old enough to go so far on her own?” 

Ian’s tone was cautious. The last thing he wanted was to upset Claire but he was curious about the seemingly sudden decision regarding Brianna. The letter that had arrived from friends in Boston––friends Claire had never mentioned, by name or otherwise, in the six months since she and Brianna had appeared at Lallybroch––seemed… not convenient but not natural in a way. It felt like the lot of them were hiding something. 

Claire sighed. “I don’t know that children are ever ‘old enough’ for their parents to be comfortable with them doing things like that. Do you feel like your Jamie is old enough to be married?”

Ian chuckled. “I suppose ye’re right. But the lass is just fourteen and the journey she faces… For her to go alone…”

“We might be able to engage someone in Inverness as a companion for her,” Claire said in a dismissive and unconvincing tone. Ian moved on.

“And now ye’re about to be starting it all again,” he gestured to her hand where it still rested on her belly. 

She smiled with more enthusiasm. “I can hardly believe it still––any of it. There were so many things I had struggled to accept for so long as being lost, being passed. I thought I had and then… In some ways, it’s like no time at all has passed.”

“Except ye have yer lass old enough to be striking out on her own,” he observed. 

“Except that,” she agreed. “There are things that make it impossible to forget those fifteen years. But we seem to be moving forward again instead of being trapped by the past.”

“Aye. Things do feel like they’re wakin’ up in a way that’s more than just spring,” Ian mused, reaching down to fiddle with the wrappings on his leg. 

Claire leaned forward in her seat and gently moved his hands aside so she could check the cloths and peek beneath them to examine the skin beneath. 

“It doesn’t appear as irritated as before. Does it feel better?”

“Aye––no so sore as before.”

Claire picked up the discarded artificial leg from where it leaned against Ian’s chair. 

“If you’re going to keep going out to the fields with Jamie then you’re going to need to use more cushioning in this,” she advised. “What you’ve got in here is so old and flat it’s completely useless.”

* * *

 

Rabbie held the horse by the bridle while Jamie had its foot clamped between his thighs so he could dislodge a stone from its shoe. 

“Ah!” he muttered with satisfaction as it came loose. The horse snorted its approval and tugged at its foot. Jamie yielded and stepped clear as the horse shuffled about assessing its footing. 

“Take her for a walk,” Jamie instructed Rabbie. “I dinna want her back at the plow straight away. See if she still favors that foot. Canna tell yet if the stone cut her at all but if she favors it I’ve a poultice I can try if I remove her shoe.”

Rabbie nodded and led the horse out of the doorway of the barn while Jamie gathered his tools to put them away.

“That the horse ye’ll use to pull the wagon?” Jenny asked as she came up carrying the milking stool under one arm and the milk pail in the other. 

“So long as her foot isna cut up and she can finish the plowing ‘fore we leave, aye,” he responded before taking the stool from Jenny and following her into the barn.

“The lass is busy packing her things now,” Jenny remarked. “When is it ye plan to leave?”

“End of the week,” Jamie answered quietly. 

“And ye havena tried to talk Claire out of goin’ wi’ ye to Inverness?” Jenny settled the stool in the pen where her two nanny goats were resting while their kids toddled around and played at head butting each other. 

“Do ye think she would listen if I did?” Jamie scoffed. 

Jenny smiled. “Not a chance,” she admitted. “But still… wi’ the bairn ought ye no to try? Or talk the lass into staying. I ken these folk were good friends to them when they were living in the Americas but to ask that she cross an ocean alone––and when there’ll be plenty you and Claire need help wi’ here when the bairn comes…” Jenny shook her head as she milked the goat at a steady pace. “It doesna seem right. Claire ought to write back and explain her condition and need of Brianna. If this friend needs money we could scrape something together to send.”

“Jenny…” Jamie said in a tone that startled his sister into stopping her milking and looking up at him. “Brianna  _ wants _ to go. I dinna think it’s fair to force her to stay.”

“Ye’re her  _ father _ ,” Jenny pressed. “Ye’ve every right to tell her she’s to stay put and help you and her mam wi’ the bairn.”

“Just because I  _ can _ doesna mean I  _ should _ and ye ken that well enough. I’ve no been a real father to her for more’n a few months. She spent more time in Boston than she has here and if she still considers that home…” He shrugged. “She’ll be wi’ folk that care for her; tha’s the important fact.”

Jenny frowned but then she turned back to her milking. “So long as you and Claire are fine wi’ her goin’ it’s yer decision. And I ken ye dinna feel much like the lass’ father knowin’ her so short a time but ye are and dinna forget it. Ye may no have been there to see her born or to see her grow, but yer heart kens hers as it does Claire’s. Yer children are a part of ye from the first and they’ll stay wi’ ye till the last, whether ye’re there with them or no.”

Jamie remembered the incalculable times in fifteen years he’d thought of Claire and Brianna––when he hadn’t known whether she was a son or daughter, when he hadn’t been able to picture her as anything other than a wrapped bundle in Claire’s arms.  _ Lord that she might be safe––she and the child _ . It had been the single most pressing thought he’d had since he first realized Claire was with child. And what of Faith? He hadn’t even seen her but the weight of her––the weight of guilt, of loss, of what might have been––remained with him. 

Then he smiled thinking about the child already making its presence felt in Claire’s womb. No matter what might happen in the coming weeks and months, this new child would stay with him too––the miracle of he and Claire finding one another again after so many hopeless days. 

“Aye.” 

Jenny looked up from her milking once more, unsure if Jamie was agreeing with her earlier sentiment of or simply trying to get her attention.

“This new bairn… I almost feel that it’s… that it’s an amends of some kind… That perhaps Claire and I are being given this child as apology for the years we each spent believing the other lost––a new life for so many years of death,” Jamie mused in hushed tones as though speaking too loud would be tempting fate. “No that Brianna being alive and healthy isna worth every day of those years apart,” he added. 

“Aye… And ye’re goin’ to let her go and miss the bairn?” Jenny sounded less judgmental than she had before and more genuinely confused by it all.

Jamie’s smile faded. “She’s grown enough to ken her own mind. We’ll send her word as best we can but it’s her decision. She’s no a wean to be scolded and sat in a corner. She kens what she’ll miss.”

“Well… Much as she’ll be in a familiar place wi’ familiar folks, I’d wager it willna be so very long before she comes home to ye,” Jenny predicted. She maneuvered the first nanny goat out of the way as the second wandered over ready for her turn. 


	23. Preparing to Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie, Claire, and Brianna journey to the stones but aren't quite ready to part so they spend one last day together.

Their progress to Inverness was slow. Jamie spent most of the time riding while Claire drove the wagon with Brianna sitting next to her. In the back they had some surplus seed and a few extraneous items they were hoping to sell along with Brianna’s packed trunk. They had yet to decide what exactly they would do with it but couldn’t leave it at Lallybroch when she was supposed to be taking it with her on her sea voyage.

“I wish I could take it with me,” Brianna told Jamie when they stopped and made camp one evening (he insisted they make a full camp early each day to be sure Claire had plenty of rest and didn’t spend too much time jostling about as they travelled). “I know how much work you put into it.”

Jamie smiled weakly. He didn’t want her to feel worse about the decision she had made than she already did now her mind was made up. “Perhaps we’ll discover a way to be sure it finds its way to ye,” he speculated. “If ye ken to look for it…”

“I promise I’ll look for you both,” she assured them. “I’ll want to know whether I have a little brother or sister so make sure you put a notice in the paper or something.”

“Of course we will,” Claire assured her as she rubbed a sore spot at the base of her spine. Jamie watched for a moment before sliding closer and tackling the knot of muscle for her. She sighed with relief and let her body fall forward, curling around her growing belly so he could reach better. “We’ll put in postings so you know how we fare.”

“That way if––for whatever reason,” Jamie was quick to add, “whether ye need to or simply want to––if ye find yerself coming back through the stones, ye’ll be able to find us.”

An uncomfortable silence descended on the three of them and Jamie could have kicked himself for causing it.

“That’s not… I just meant…” Jamie struggled.

“What he means is whatever happens, you’ll always have a place with us,” Claire interjected. “You are our daughter and you always will be.”

Brianna nodded but remained quiet staring into the fired. A few minutes later she rolled over and drew her blanket up around her shoulders helping to block the light of the fire so she could sleep more easily.

Jamie and Claire waited for a while before retiring to their own makeshift bedding and whispering as they settled for the night.

“She kens what we meant, right?” Jamie asked seeking reassurance. “She kens we dinna want her to go even though we didna fight her on it?”

“She knows… now,” Claire promised him, rolling to her side in an attempt to get more comfortable as the child in her womb shifted lazily. “And we’ve made sure she’ll understand later too, when we’re not there to remind her in person.”

Jamie smiled and nodded then pressed his forehead to hers as he remembered the night he’d found her at her vanity table her hair brushes, creams, and powders pushed to one side to allow room for the carefully arranged pile of blank paper, ink well, candle, and sealing wax. One letter already lay carefully folded and sealed, Frank carefully scrawled above the seal embossed with the Fraser crest that he’d inherited from his father. He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she was writing to him but seeing the seal gave him an odd sense of triumph. 

He hadn’t thought she’d noted his quiet approach but she must have noticed the shadow he cast looking over her shoulder. 

“For Bree,” she’d said with obvious sadness but also determination. Her handwriting wasn’t steady or consistent, its erraticism symptomatic of her scattered thoughts as wave upon wave of necessary advice and thoughts of love and endearments crashed upon her and crowded the page. “There’s just... still so much,” she tried to explain. 

He rested his hand on her shoulder and bent to kiss the crown of her head.

“Let me know when ye’re done,” he whispered. “I might have a few things of my own to add.”

He saw her smile reflected in a small hand mirror that lay nearby on the table top.

“You write your own letter then,” she teased. “This one’s mine.”

The letters were carefully wrapped and ready to hand over to Brianna just before she left so she would have them when she needed them most.

* * *

 

They came upon the empty cabin about midday, the hill and stones just visible in the distance. 

“Tomorrow,” Claire said, her voice breaking. She wrapped an arm around Brianna’s shoulders and cleared her throat before saying it again and making sure it sounded like a request and not an order. “Tomorrow. We’ll have one more day together, one more night, and then we’ll go up that hill with you tomorrow.”

Brianna nodded her agreement eagerly. She’d gone pale and looked to be trembling even as her eyes narrowed and her jaw set with the determination to do what she’d made up her mind to do.

“Right,” Jamie said as he started to unhitch the horse that had been pulling the wagon. He led it along with his mount over to a nearby tree and hobbled them in the shade. 

Brianna helped her mother descend from the wagon and go through the provisions they’d brought to compose a decent feast. Claire shook out their blankets and brought most of their camping gear inside the dilapidated cabin.

“These are the best accommodations we’ve had since leaving Lallybroch,” she commented with a weak smile as Brianna set some crockery down near the hearth and began raking together the remnants of kindling left by the last interlopers to shelter in the cabin––very likely herself and her mother shortly after their arrival just half a year before. 

Jamie came in a short time later with an armload of dry sticks and a sizeable branch he’d broken down, placing them strategically among the ones Brianna had arranged. A few minutes later they had a fire started and Claire set about heating some water to begin a stew for their evening meal. 

Once it was simply a matter of letting the mixture steep she brushed herself off and pushed herself to her feet, eyes examining the floor. It had once had planks but most had rotted away leaving hard-packed bare earth in their place. 

“You think it’s still here?” Brianna asked, rising and following her mother, tapping the boards lightly with her toe. 

“There’s no reason to expect it wouldn’t be,” Claire remarked. 

“What are ye lookin’ for?” Jamie inquired peering down at the floor between them. 

One of the floorboards sank beneath Brianna’s weight. She dropped to her knees and pried the board up. It took a few tries––and one uncomfortable splinter––before yielding; its neighbor came up more easily. 

Inside the small, dug-out cavity was the picnic basket she and Claire had brought with them to Craigh na Dun in late October 1962. She pulled it up and handed it over to Claire before rising and peering at the pad of her finger to see if she could retrieve the splinter herself.

Claire passed the basket off to Jamie and then took firm hold of Brianna’s hand, pulling her gently towards the sunlight peeking through the cabin’s entrance. “Let me see. I can get that out in a pinch.”

Jamie examined the picnic basket. The precision of the metalwork on the hinges and the quality of the materials of the basket itself were foreign to him. He’d never seen such uniformity in anything fashioned by hand and he couldn’t quite… “Is this willow?” he asked with an eyebrow cocked in Claire and Brianna’s direction. 

“I think so,” Claire said as she squeezed Brianna’s finger between her own. 

“How did the weaver get it so…” 

“It was made in a factory I think,” Claire explained as she successfully pulled the splinter free from Brianna’s finger and––as she had done when Brianna was a small child––she kissed it when finished. 

“Factory?” Jamie played with the word. 

“Parts of it anyway. Some machine assembly, some done by hand,” Claire said coming up beside him and opening it to pull out the twentieth century clothes within. “I’ll tell you all about the Industrial Revolution sometime; it’s not too many decades away.” She sniffed at the carefully folded clothes she and Brianna had worn months––and centuries––earlier. “Not too bad for having been buried six months,” she remarked turning to offer Brianna the pile.

Brianna took the clothes and buried her nose in them, a smile spreading across her face as she closed her eyes. “They smell like… my shampoo and the lotion I liked to use. And a bit of sweat and grass and dirt,” she added with a more practical shrug. She turned and went to set them near the window to air them out, not noticing her father’s confused expression as he looked at the colorful, carefully-folded pile. 

A moment later his attention was distracted by something Claire was holding up to her chest.

“What’s that?”

“It’s the brassiere I wore when we came through––my old undergarments. More practical for moving around than a set of stays,” she remarked with a sigh as she put it back. “Would be  _ much _ more comfortable right now in particular,” she added as she rested a hand on her belly. “But I still prefer having you around to rub my neck and shoulders,” she assured him with a smile. She reached up and used her thumb to smooth the furrowed line of his brow. “Are you all right?” she asked under her breath.

His mouth twitched up at the corners while his gaze when to Brianna by the window reverently checking over her old clothes with both familiarity and disbelief. 

“No,” he whispered. 

“Me either,” she confessed, tears in her eyes. 

None of them knew what to say to one another so they avoided speaking and simply relished one another’s presence as the minutes slipped away. 

Finally, Claire took her small knife and a cloth bag and ventured a short ways from the cabin to scour the local plant life for useful specimens, Brianna and even Jamie drifting in her wake and bringing her silent offerings of their own. Brianna and Claire took it in turns to check the stew simmering away inside while Jamie fetched water for the horses. It was quiet and peaceful, comfortable as a habit. 

Claire’s knees grew sore as she knelt with her bag leaning against her legs. Brianna came and sat beside her with a bouquet of wildflowers in her lap. She began by removing the leaves from the flowers leaving them each with a long, clean stalk. Then she started braiding those stems together as she and her school friends had done with dandelions when they were very young. Claire smiled at the memory and continued watching, afraid to move or comment. When Brianna had finished two crowns of flowers, she settled one on her own head before turning to place the second on her mother’s head. There were still a few unused flowers in her lap so she started braiding once more and created a small and incomplete third crown. 

“Do you think Da…?” she asked, holding it gently in her fingers and squinting at Jamie several feet away gathering some more kindling for the fire inside. She made the flower crown appear to rest on his head but the giggle it inspired had her hand shaking and jostling it a few moments later. 

Claire reached over and waited for Brianna to relinquish the third crown to her. Shifting from her knees to her bottom, the curve of Claire’s growing pregnant belly appeared more prominent. She draped the string of flowers over the swell.

“Do you think it’s a girl?” Brianna asked, her eyes narrowed. “Is that something you… is it something you get a sense of  _ before _ ?”

Claire’s mouth twisted, unsure. “I thought I knew with you but I was wrong. I’m not sure what I thought with Faith… But this one…” She shook her head. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I wonder, sometimes… what it would have been like to have an older sister,” Brianna whispered, looking away. “Are you going to tell this one about me at all? Probably have to, I suppose, with everyone at Lallybroch knowing about me.”

“Of course we’ll tell them about you,” Claire promised. “Everything; no lies.”

Brianna nodded but couldn’t bring herself to smile; she simply stared at the gentle incline that led to Craigh na Dun. From their current position, they could see the hill but the stones themselves weren’t visible at the summit; only the tops of a few of the trees swayed in a hypnotic rhythm. She hoped her little brother or sister would be able to forgive her for leaving, for not sticking around to meet them. 

“The two of ye look like a pair of mischievous fairies,” Jamie remarked crossing to join them. 

Claire smiled. “Appropriate given the stories, then.”

“Do ye suppose that stew is finished? Or should I resort to eatin’ grass wi’ the horses?”

Claire laughed with more mirth than Brianna would have expected. Claire reached for Jamie who helped pull her to her feet then did the same for Brianna and they went inside to eat. 

The fire in the hearth kept the cabin warm as the temperature outside cooled. It was the middle of spring so the nights were still a little chilly though the threat of frost had long passed. 

“What stories?” Brianna asked as their bowls lay empty in a pile. “You said something earlier, Mama, about fairy stories.”

“The ones to do with the standing stones,” Claire explained. She set about making up a space on the floor for them to sleep. “When we first came here, I told you a little about them, didn’t I? No matter if I didn’t; you were a bit distracted with the truth that seems to have inspired the legends anyway.”

“Ye havena heard the tales of the auld folk then?” Jamie inquired, puzzled, then smiled. “In the early days I kent yer mother at Leoch––before we were wed––my uncle’s bard sang the stories about it. I looked for yer mam those nights and connived to sit wi’ her so I could be the lucky one whispering to her what the songs meant.”

“The Woman of Balnain,” Claire nodded. “I remember.”

“Well I’ve never heard it,” Brianna pointed out. 

Jamie eased himself to the floor where Claire had just set their sleeping things down against a wall––so as not to be too close to the hearth and any stray sparks that might fall. 

“Let me see how much I can recall then,” he told Brianna as he patted the space next to him.

Brianna ended up nestled between her parents as Jamie told the story of the Woman of Balnain with Claire making small interjections from her own memory of a distant night at Leoch. The rhythm of Jamie’s voice and the warmth of the bodies on either side of her lulled Brianna towards sleep. She rested her head on Jamie’s shoulder as Claire pulled a blanket up over their laps. By the time the story had ended, Brianna was sound asleep.

“Thank ye, Sassenach,” Jamie whispered as they eased Brianna down between them. “Thank ye for insisting she no go from us today.”

“Happy birthday, Jamie,” she whispered in response brushing first a stray lock of hair from his eyes and then patting Brianna’s down flat beside her. Finally she nuzzled her cheek against the back of Brianna’s head as she had when Brianna was a child and crawled into bed with her and Frank during thunderstorms and blizzards. 

She didn’t want to sleep; she wanted to stay up and watch her daughter in sleep one last time but her busy body demanded it and succumbed despite her protests.


	24. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire say goodbye to Brianna and watch her disappear through the stones.

Jamie woke first. The small cabin was still and the light was dim. There was no heat emanating from the dead embers in the hearth; they hadn’t built the fire large enough to last the night and Jamie had expected to wake at least once in the dark to put additional fuel on, but instead had slept soundly through to the predawn. 

Brianna and Claire both remained soundly asleep as Jamie propped himself up on an arm and glanced over them. Claire’s head was inclined towards their daughter’s but the gentle swell of the child unborn made sleeping on her side so close to Brianna uncomfortable. Her hand rested atop the bump, caressing, loving, protective. In sleep, it was easy for Jamie to trace the similarities between mother and daughter. Their chins were the same and they shared a long, graceful neck; both had one arm tucked beneath their heads; they even crossed their feet in a similar fashion, the toes of one foot tucked away behind the ankle of the other foot. 

He watched them as the light in the cabin grew. The horses outside grew restless in their increasing hunger and finally Claire’s hand tightened over her belly and her eyes flew open. 

“Ye all right, Sassenach?” Jamie whispered, trying to calm the instinctive panic.

She turned her head towards him, questioning and uncertain having been yanked so forcefully from sleep.

“Yes,” she muttered, pushing herself up and brushing her hair back from her face. “Just a rousing kick to my bladder.” She pushed herself to her feet and arched her back till there was an unsettling pop but then she sighed comfortably and shuffled outside to relieve herself. Jamie rose and walked with her on his way to feed the horses.

The loss of warmth on either side was enough to rouse Brianna. It took a few minutes for her to realize where she was. Rising, she poked her head out the door and saw her parents standing by the horses, Claire resting her crossed arms on her protruding belly while Jamie maneuvered the feed bag from the wagon to the pair of disgruntled horses stomping for their breakfast. When the horses were appeased, Jamie joined Claire wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leaning to press a kiss to her crown, his other hand dropping to her crossed arms and the growing bump. 

There was a lump in her throat and an ache in her chest as she turned away and crossed the room to the clothes that had spent the night airing out. She kept her back to the door while she changed from the worn homespun dress and stays into the jeans and sweater she had donned for that long ago picnic. She was surprised to discover that the clothes felt awkward and unfamiliar after so short a time. 

“Oh,” Jamie uttered as he and Claire returned to the cabin. “I didna realize…” Brianna pressed her lips together to keep from smiling when she noticed his blush.

“Breakfast won't take long,” Claire assured them, moving to stoke the embers and get a new fire going.

“I uh… I think I’ll skip it,” Brianna said. “I think the less in my stomach, the better.” Just thinking about the way she had been reduced to a crumbled, retching ball the last time was making her queasy and a cold sweat break out on her brow.

“Oh… Right,” Claire murmured abandoning her task and wiping her hands. 

“Do ye have everything then?” Jamie asked, looking around the room and moving to rifle through the things they had brought in from the wagon.

“Bring some bread and cheese with you, at least,” Claire insisted. She began putting a pack together, adding one of the blankets and a bottle with water.

“Where do you want me to put my dress?” 

“We’ll put it in your trunk with the rest of your things. Wait,” Claire exclaimed, rummaging through Brianna's trunk till she found the pouch. “Don't forget these.”

“Are you sure you don't want––”

“They’re  _ yours _ ,” Claire emphasized, pressing the pearls into Brianna’s hand and closing her own around it tightly. “They were a gift and you’re taking them with you.”

Brianna’s smile was filled with sadness and relief. She was grateful to have her mother’s pearls––her  _ grandmother’s _ pearls––to bring back with her; there was so much she wished she could take but couldn’t.

“If I could take this with me,” she told Jamie, rubbing her hand over the carved strawberries on the lid of the trunk he had made her, “I would.”

“I ken,” Jamie assured her. 

“Oh, here,” Brianna exclaimed suddenly, then rushed to rummage through the trunk herself. She pulled out a packet of letters. “I worked on writing these when no one was around to see. They’re mostly for you to use for Ian. He’ll be on the lookout for letters.”

Jamie nodded, taking the packet and tucking them into his coat. “Are ye ready then?”

Not trusting herself to speak, Brianna nodded once.

Jamie reached out and took Claire’s cold and trembling hand in his own then offered his other elbow to Brianna.

“Then… we’d best be off… ye’ll have a bit of a walk on the other end, as I understand it.”

Brianna made one last check of the cabin and her trunk, putting a few additional things into the pack Claire had made for her. Then with a nod to herself she joined her parents at the door to the cabin and didn’t look back again.

They climbed the hill slowly and in silence. Claire’s hand tightened on Jamie’s as they neared the top and once again she pressed a hand tightly to her belly, the growing occupant becoming disquieted as they approached the stones. 

“Do you hear that?” Brianna asked, unnoticing. 

“The buzzing,” Claire nodded. “I’m not the only one,” she added with a forced smile for Jamie’s benefit, rubbing the hand soothingly to calm the distressed occupant within. 

“I dinna hear anything,” Jamie remarked with a sorrowful and resigned note. 

Claire gave his hand a squeeze as Brianna let go.

They stood in the circle of stones and Brianna felt her heart thrumming in time with the pulsing that underlay the buzzing in her ears. She turned and saw how pale her mother was, the tension in her father’s face as he held himself in check. 

She set her pack on the ground and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tighter as she felt his arms close around her and lift her to her toes. 

“Da, I…” 

“Hush now,  _ mo nighean ruaidh _ ,” he murmured into her hair. “I want ye to know… I dinna regret any of it… No those days in the cave, nor the nights at Ardsmuir… I’d go through them all again gladly knowing ye’re alive and well.”

“I love you, Da,” Brianna whispered around the lump of tears caught in her throat. 

“I love you, too. Thank ye for the chance to know ye.” He loosened his hold on her and she let her arms slip from around his neck. He reached up and brushed hair from her forehead before leaning to press a kiss to her crown. “I’ll take care of yer mother… I promise,” he added in whispered Gáidhlig so that Claire might not hear.

“ _ Mòran taing _ ,” Brianna responded with a smile. “ _ Bidh mi a 'coimhead airson thu _ .”

“Good lass.”

Brianna turned to Claire who already had streaks on her cheeks from her tears. 

“Mama,” Brianna whimpered before her own tears refused to be restrained any longer and she felt her mother pull her into a comforting embrace. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Claire intoned. “I am so proud of you, Bree––and I always will be. I want you to know that.” She rubbed her hand slowly up and down Brianna’s back as she had when Brianna was a small child, a motion at once familiar and soothing to both of them. “I’m sorry that I tricked you to get you to come and that I lied––”

“No, mama,” Brianna interrupted, sniffling loudly and shifting to avoid wiping her nose on Claire’s shoulder. “You were right… I’m glad I came. I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

“You’re going to continue to be the incredible young woman I’ve raised you to be,” Claire insisted warmly before taking a deep, shuddering breath to maintain her self-control. “You’re going to finish school; you’re going to be good to Frank; you’re going to do what makes you happy; and you’re going to find someone who makes you happy. But I need you to remember that you will always have a place here with us if that’s what you choose…  _ always _ .”

“I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, Bree baby,” Claire murmured, blinking through her tears and kissing Brianna’s cheek. 

Brianna wiped her eyes as best she could as she pulled back from Claire. Glancing at her mother’s hands clasped over her belly, Brianna brought her hand to her lips and kissed her four fingers then pressed them against the bump. 

“Be good, you,” she advised. “Don’t give them too hard a time… but… you know… don’t make it too easy for them either,” she teased. 

“He––or she––is a Fraser so there’s little chance of that,” Claire said placing her hand over Brianna’s and holding it in place while the child inside stretched and made its presence felt poking either a hand or a foot into Brianna’s palm. 

The sensation made Brianna start. She gently pulled her hand loose from her mother’s and cleared her throat, looking at her feet until she trusted herself again. She reached for her pack and lifted it, slinging it over her shoulder. 

“You’ll need to think of Frank,” Claire reminded her. “You’ll see or feel a pull in either direction and one of those will be Frank; focus on that one or… just focus on Frank.”

Brianna closed her eyes for a moment and willed herself forward towards the stone with the crack reaching down the middle, striving to touch the earth below. The buzzing in her ears became nauseating and the last few steps were physically painful. Her knuckles were white where they clasped the makeshift handle of her pack, afraid she might let go and lose it before she’d even begun the journey.

With the stone a foot away, she took one final glance over her shoulder. Her mother was curled into her father’s side and his arm was tight around her; they were two pillars, each leaning in the other’s direction, meeting and supporting each other indefinitely. They would be all right without her; they had each other. Looking back to the stone ahead, she conjured an image of Frank alone in their house in Boston with nothing warm to prop him up or keep him going. Maybe he was at his desk with his research spread before him… maybe he was looking for her. 

She reached for him, her fingers brushing the rough cool stone for a moment before the world around her shattered loudly and pulled her to pieces in the process.

Brianna was gone, vanished before their eyes. 

Claire gasped. She had never seen it happen before, only experienced it. 

It felt like she was experiencing it now; the ripping and shredding of herself as her world was torn from her; the disorientation when first arriving in a place that was at once the same and completely different. 

Jamie’s arms wrapped around her and she buried her face in his chest. 

“It’s no too late, Claire,” he said quietly. “Ye can follow her if ye feel ye must… I’ll understand.”

With sudden and unexpected strength, Claire pushed against him and in his surprise he released her. She glared at him through her tears before impulsively slapping him across the face. The stinging in her hand––for just one moment––was stronger than the ache in her chest. The outline of her hand quickly appeared on his cheek. 

“I don’t  _ ever _ want to hear you talk like that again,” she told him, her voice strained but fierce. 

Jamie nodded, his jaw set tight as he held back everything he so clearly longed to say. 

Shame flooded through Claire as she watched him look away from her. He looked like a scolded child. She reached up to his face and brushed his cheek gently. “I’m sorry, Jamie,” she said in a gasping rush. “I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“I ken ye didna mean it, Sassenach,” he murmured. 

She rose on her toes to kiss first his marked cheek and then his lips. It was impossible to tell whether the taste of salt originated with his tears or her own. 

“Take me back to the cabin, Jamie,” Claire requested. “I never want to see this fucking hill again.”

“Agreed.”

They walked back down to the cabin where Jamie went to check on the horses again and Claire went through the motions of making a breakfast that neither she or Jamie would do more than just nibble for appearance’s sake. As they sat on the ground pushing their food around, their attention kept returning to Brianna’s trunk. 

“What should we do with it?” Claire asked. Their plan had been to continue on to Inverness after parting with Brianna and taking care of the other errands they had in the small port city––buying additional seed for planting, selling what they could of various extras Lallybroch had produced, picking up material, books, and other supplies the estate would need. “Do we see if there’s somewhere in Inverness that we can store it?”

Jamie frowned. “I dinna ken that we ought to try; Jenny or Ian might intercept the bills and that would mean either explaining to them or lying, and I dinna want to lie to them.”

“There’s nowhere on the estate we could hide it without it being found,” Claire reasoned, “and if there were, getting it hidden away when we get back is likely impossible.”

“Why don’t we leave it here?” Jamie suggested, surprising himself as well as Claire.

“Here?”

“Aye. In the cabin. It’s abandoned so there’s no many likely to disturb it and then if the lass ever were to come back, there’d be something of hers waiting here for her, wi’ some clothes and such,” he rambled, his enthusiasm growing as the vision of Brianna coming back and finding something familiar waiting became stronger. “We can leave her a message inside, as well.”

“And what if someone else comes along and just takes it?” Claire challenged.

“We’ll carry with us what we cannae bear to part with.” He shifted to his knees and crawled over to the trunk, running his hands across the familiar lid before raising it to go through its contents. “In all likelihood, the folk most likely to find their way to this cabin here are those like you––travellers lost through the stones.”

Claire hesitated before joining Jamie beside the open trunk. She wanted to slam it shut; the idea of anyone––even herself and Jamie––going through Brianna’s things felt like a violation. But Brianna wasn’t here anymore; these were the things she had chosen to leave behind, things she didn’t need anymore. Would it be so wrong to leave them for someone else to use––possibly even Brianna herself, someday?

In all, there wasn’t much that Brianna had packed in the trunk that they wanted to keep for themselves; most of what she had packed were her clothes while the keepsakes she’d managed to acquire had gone into the pack that had disappeared through the stones with her. 

Claire saved the blue and green dress that Jenny had helped her make for Brianna as a Christmas gift, that she had worn for the Hogmanay celebration while dancing with Jamie and her cousins; Claire decided to find some way to remake it yet again that she might keep a part of it as a remembrance. 

Jamie found one of a pair of hair combs that Brianna had been fond of borrowing from Claire––so fond of borrowing them, Claire had told Brianna to just go ahead and take them since they refused to hold her own uncooperative curls in place. The other one must have successfully made it into Brianna’s pack. He pressed the pad of his thumb to the flowers carved in the tortoise shell so that when he took his thumb away, the pattern appeared there in relief just a few inches above the faint ‘C’ carved by Claire in that same cabin fifteen years before. He slipped the comb into the sporran on his belt. 

“Do ye want to stay another night or would ye prefer we move on to Inverness?” he asked Claire quietly. “We ought to be able to make it in time to sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

“There’s no reason left for us to stay,” she responded, her voice barely above a whisper though she wasn’t intentionally trying to be quiet. “I just want to go home. The sooner we’re through at Inverness, the sooner we can be back at Lallybroch.” 


	25. Brianna Randall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna makes her way from Craigh na Dun to Inverness.

Brianna groaned as she rolled over and her face scraped against the rough fabric of her pack. Her head ached like she hadn’t just reached out and touched the stone but had smacked her head against it. She sat up slowly and felt the same roiling nausea in her stomach that she’d experienced the first time. Skipping breakfast had been a blessing; she was able to close her eyes and breathe through her mouth for a few moments, successfully dispelling the nausea.

It was quiet in the circle of stones. Even the stones’ buzzing had switched to a low hum.

It must have worked; if it hadn’t, her parents would have rushed to her immediately. Still, she forced herself to slowly scan the sparse circle to be sure there were no signs of anyone before she pushed herself up to her knees and a moment later, her feet. She wobbled at first but balance soon returned and with it, the desperate need to get away from the stones.

Despite the visual evidence of her solitude, Brianna’s feet seemed to require further confirmation. She found herself wandering down the hill in the direction she’d come minutes––no, _centuries_ ––before.

The clearing where the cottage had stood was still there but all visible traces of the structure itself had been erased over the years. It struck her then, just how far she’d come that there wasn’t even a trace of her having been there. Her parents… the child her mother had carried… everyone at Lallybroch… All were long dead and gone…

Not to her, though. She would find them and learn what had happened to them; she would make sure they were all right without her.

But first she needed to get to Inverness, to her father’s friend Reverend Wakefield whom she was confident would be willing to help her contact him.

It took her a few minutes of searching to find the road that led towards Inverness. She adjusted her pack on her shoulder and began to walk.

It was strange to feel the hard pavement under her feet again after so long. Within an hour her feet began to ache and she shuffled off onto the side of the road where the ground was packed nearly as hard. There were several miles between Craigh na Dun and Inverness. She expected she could cover the distance by mid-morning and then she could ask someone for directions to the Reverend’s house.

Only in walking and thinking what to say to Reverend Wakefield that she began to wonder about what had happened following her and her mother’s disappearance six months earlier. The car they’d driven to the hill had been borrowed; though her mother had been prepared for the journey through the stones, quite a few of their things had been left behind in their rooms at the inn. There must have been some sort of search for the two of them, especially given what her mother had told her about the fuss surrounding her first disappearance. The last thing Brianna wanted was for there to be any sort of attention paid to her upon her return. She wanted to go home to Boston and sleep in her own bed for a week, try to make sense of what she was feeling and what she would do, what she would say to everyone she hadn’t known to say goodbye to.

The sound of a car approaching was at once familiar and foreign. It startled her, having been so long since she’d heard one but the driver slowed after spotting her and pulled up alongside her, rolling the window down.

“What’s a lass like you doin’ so far out here?” the young man asked.

“Walking,” Brianna retorted automatically.

The man laughed. “Aye, I can see that. But ye’re quite a ways from civilization. Were ye up to see the stones at the hill then? Bout the only thing hereabouts to see so early in the day.”

Brianna could tell from the way the young man pulled up on the brake and made to get out of the car that she must’ve gone pale. She felt as faint as she had upon first coming through. She still hadn’t eaten anything that morning.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, as the man cautiously reached out to steady her. “I just… need to eat something.” She started rustling about in her pack for the food her mother had set aside for her.

“Please, let me give ye a ride. I’m on my way to Inverness and––”

Brianna’s head swung up. “You can drive me to Inverness?”

“Aye. Please, get in,” he pressed her.

She looked at the car and hesitated for only a moment before climbing into the passenger seat. The cushions. She’d forgotten how much give they had compared to a horse or a wagon seat. She had located the bread and cheese, taking a large bite of the former and quickly chewing though it was slightly stale.

“Now then,” the driver said getting back into his seat and restarting the car. “Are ye staying in Inverness or will ye be needing the bus stop?”

“I’m not sure the address,” Brianna said after swallowing. She brushed her hair behind her ears suddenly aware of the rearview mirror and what she must look like; it had been days since she’d had the mirrors at Lallybroch to examine her reflection; her face might well be half dirt with sticks and grass in her hair. “I’m looking for the Reverend Wakefield when I get to Inverness.”

“Reverend Wakefield?” the young man started at the name.

“Do you know him?”

“Aye but I’m interested to ken how _you_ do.”

“He’s an old friend of my father’s,” Brianna informed him. “My name is Bree––Brianna, that is. Brianna––”

“Randall?”

Brianna was taken aback by the force with which the man spoke. The story of her disappearance must’ve caused a stir for him to know who she was, to know her name. Or perhaps Daddy had come looking for her and was staying with Reverend Wakefield.

“Yeah,” she finally responded. “I’m Bree Randall.” She hardly recognized her own name on her tongue, in her ears. She’d finally gotten used to calling herself Fraser.

“You and yer mam disappeared six months ago,” he felt the need to inform her. “Folk said yer mam took ye and ran off. There was a small to do over the whole thing but she’d done it once before so it didna last long. My father was worried about how yer da would take the news; offered to let him stay wi’ us while the search was on but he… he didna want to get involved. He wrote my da and said once through such a circus was enough.”

“Roger,” Brianna guessed. “I remember Mama asking about you whenever Daddy got letters from Reverend Wakefield.”

“Aye, sorry,” he apologized. “I should have said earlier. But where’ve ye been? Where’s yer mother?”

Brianna felt the tears prick her eyes and turned to look out the window at the passing scenery. It was flying by so quickly, Brianna felt her pulse begin to race in minor panic. She wanted everything to slow down again; she needed to get her bearings. It all was happening so fast.

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Roger asked with a note of sympathetic confusion.

Brianna nodded. “I’ll need to get word to Daddy but I don’t want… you mentioned a ‘to do’? I’d like very much to avoid that if possible.”

It was Roger’s turn to nod. “Ye’re just a lass. No need to throw ye to the wolves. But my father will want to be sure the police are notified of yer return and there’ll be questions for ye, without doubt. Do ye have any idea where ye were? How was it ye got away?”

“I didn’t ‘get away,’” Brianna objected. “I wasn’t being held captive or anything.”

“And where ye were? What about that? How’d ye get all the way out here on yer own?”

Brianna fell silent.

“How old are ye?”

“I’m fourteen,” she snapped. “How old are _you_?”

“Not yet twenty-two. And I drove out here, as ye can see. Visiting for a few days before I need to start preparing for end of term examinations. Still waiting for yer explanation, though––why ye were at Craigh na Dun alone so early.”

“Are you studying to be a police officer?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m a history student.”

“Then I don’t think it’s really any of your business.”

He pulled the car over and stopped. “Perhaps ye dinna appreciate me givin’ ye the ride then?”

It was Brianna’s turn to laugh. “For one thing, I’m perfectly fine with walking––in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s what I was doing when you first pulled over. For another thing, as you pointed out––I’ve been missing for six months. I doubt you’d want to have the police find out that you had found me, recognized me, and then left me on my own all over again––not a wee lass of but fourteen,” she mocked.

Roger’s eyes narrowed at her even as she could see his amusement.

“Verra well,” he conceded, turning the car back to the road and getting back up to speed. “I’ll take ye to my father and he’ll sort ye out. And I promise I’ll no be telling the papers about ye. They prefer more fanciful explanations anyway.” He chuckled again. “I remember when I was a wee lad and yer mam went missing, our housekeeper––Mrs. Graham––she was worried it would scare me to spend so much time around the searching; yer father stayed wi’ us for the first weeks and my father helped him. Mrs. Graham would tell me stories about yer mam being taken by the fairies to keep me from the darker theories that were floatin’ about––that yer mam had been kidnapped or murdered. I was older when she came back but Mrs. Graham felt the need to bring it up again and tell me, ‘See. They always come back.’”

“Like the Woman of Balnain,” Brianna murmured, the warm tones of her father’s voice sweeping through her memory… _I stood upon the hill and the wind did rise_ …

“Ye ken the tale?”

“Yes.”

They slipped into silence as the hills and fields gave way to the houses and eventually the larger buildings of Inverness. It wasn’t long before Roger turned down a long drive that brought them right to the door of the manse.

“This should be interesting,” Roger muttered as the door opened and Mrs. Graham emerged onto the step, waving in welcome.

Brianna took a deep breath before pushing open the passenger door, clinging to her pack as she rose.

“Good to see ye, lad,” Mrs. Graham called. “We weren’t expecting ye so early in the day; I thought ye had a class this morning ye had to attend.”

“The professor cancelled it so I thought I’d get an early start,” Roger informed her. “Thought I’d surprise ye.”

“Well it seems it’s not one but two surprises ye had in mind––bringing a lass back wi’ ye,” Mrs. Graham teased then leaned to Roger, adding, “She seems a bit young for university.”

“It’s no like that,” Roger assured the older housekeeper who was squinting and smiling at Brianna. “I didna find her at university; I found her on the road to Inverness.”

Brianna watched Mrs. Graham’s smile stiffen and her eyes widen.

“The lass is Bree Randall.”


	26. Readjusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna is welcomed at the Manse and starts readjusting to the twentieth century.

Roger stood outside the kitchen eavesdropping on Mrs. Graham’s conversation with Brianna Randall. The housekeeper’s reaction to the teen had surprised and worried him.

She’d gone slowly to Brianna, taken her by the hands, and asked, “He lived after all then? Yer mam went back and found him?”

Brianna had nodded then burst into tears as Mrs. Graham pulled her into a reassuring hug.

“I know, lass, I know. It’s no an easy thing ye’ve been through and I’ll do what I can to help you. Ye can tell me whatever ye need and I promise, I’ll believe ye,” Mrs. Graham had crooned while rubbing Brianna’s back.

“Thank you,” Brianna responded, her tears subsiding enough for Mrs. Graham to lead her into the house and past a bewildered Reverend Wakefield.

Roger had hastily filled his father in about finding Brianna and discussed what they ought to do about contacting the authorities and getting word to Frank. They chose to send word to Frank first so that he might respond or get on the next flight so he could help deal with the police and any stir the news of her reappearance might cause.

He’d headed for the kitchen to let Brianna know but caught enough of their conversation to stop him in his tracks.

“How did she find he’d lived? From what I understood, she tried to talk of it with yer… with Mr. Randall but he didna want to believe her and she finally stopped trying––stopped talking about it altogether,” Mrs. Graham asked as she set about putting the kettle on for tea.

“Daddy found him,” Brianna explained. “He didn’t tell her though. She found his research at home and when she realized it meant Da would still be alive in… _then…_ She didn’t tell me. She didn’t think I’d believe her either and was afraid I wouldn’t go with her.”

“It’s no an easy thing to believe though, is it?” Mrs. Graham.

Brianna’s laugh was low and breathy. “No––even having actually gone through it I had trouble believing. I didn’t want to.”

“And… what’s he like, yer Da?”

“I understand it now––why she did what she did, why she’s always been the way she was.”

There was a reverence and solemnity in Brianna’s tone that pulled at Roger. He risked peeking over his shoulder and into the kitchen but Brianna was seated with his back to him, her long red hair loose down her back with its ends just brushing the hard seat of her chair. He knew she was only fourteen but she was large for her age and the way she spoke had surprising weight behind it. Whatever it was she’d been through had taken away some of her childish innocence, her naiveté. But what was it that _had_ happened to her? From what Mrs. Graham said, it sounded like she was feeding into some sort of fairy stories delusion. He never should have told her he’d found Brianna near Craigh na Dun; it only fed into Mrs. Graham’s ridiculous notions about what those standing stones could do.

“I miss them,” Brianna started crying again and Mrs. Graham’s chair scraped across the floor as she rose and moved closer to Brianna to embrace her.

“Go on then. Have yer cry. Ye’re more than entitled. I ken yer mam enough to know they didna make ye come so it must’ve been a tough decision for ye to make, comin’ back on yer own.” The cadence of her voice was soothing, even to Roger where he stood still watching unnoticed.

“I… I need Daddy,” Brianna tried speaking clearly but a childish whine was insuppressible. Roger realized how young she still was.

“I think I might be able to help with that,” he said cheerfully, finally making his presence known and walking in as though that last desire was all he’d heard of their conversation. “My father is goin’ to send a cable for him right away. Then he’ll stop off at the police to give them word ye’ve been found and he’s goin’ to plead strongly that ye be left here undisturbed until yer father can make his way here to be with ye––him bein’ a good friend of the family. With luck, the police will hold off comin’ down themselves to question ye until tomorrow though, they may no be put off so easily. If I were you, I’d be abed sleeping should they try sooner.”

“I’ll go show ye up to the spare room,” Mrs. Graham insisted. “Dinna forget yer pack there. Between the three of us, we’ll make sure ye’re no disturbed.”

* * *

 

Brianna put her pack down on the bed while Mrs. Graham showed her around the room.

“If ye feel chilled, let me know and I’ll have Roger light ye a fire in the grate though we’ve left off the coldest of winter lately,” Mrs. Graham mused before ushering Brianna out into the hall so she could tell her where the bathroom was, which way to turn the handle to keep from scalding herself, where the bath towels were. “I’ll see what I can find for ye as far as fresh clothes and things,” Mrs. Graham said glancing briefly up and down at Brianna’s worn attire. There were a few small holes in her shirt that had started to fray but the trousers, though stiff with age and dirt, had held up pretty well.

Brianna nodded and smiled politely. “Thank you. I think I’ll just wash up quick and then try to get some sleep.”

Mrs. Graham closed the door behind her as she left the room.

Brianna crossed to a small mirror mounted on the wall and started at her reflection. She was dirtier and more haggard looking than she realized. Her face was splotchy from all her crying and her eyes red and puffy; she had a line of dirt nestled just at her hairline that had probably been building up for days. It occurred to her that she hadn’t properly bathed in weeks and even then it wasn’t close to twentieth century standards. She frowned at her reflection and bent her head to sniff at herself, unable to detect how badly she must smell and amazed that she hadn’t noticed it sooner. Maybe she would opt for more than just a cursory wash after all.

She nearly fell asleep in the tub, her exhaustion combining with the forgotten luxury of warm water and floral soap to distract and lull her as time slipped away. But the water lost its heat and her waterlogged skin began to develop goosebumps atop her wrinkles. If she hadn’t been able to smell how filthy she’d become before, she was able to appreciate how much better she smelled now.

A bathrobe and oversized nightgown had been left folded on the bed next to her pack when she returned to the spare room wrapped in her towel. She slipped into the warm clothes then set about rubbing her hair dry with the towel, perched on the edge of the bed. Looking at her pack, she felt guilty for not having gone through it earlier; it was a pretty good chance Mrs. Graham would have preferred she leave the rest of her food in the kitchen rather than risk crumbs or mice.

There were a few other things she had in the pack aside from the rest of her bread, cheese, and other foodstuffs; her father’s copy of _Robinson Crusoe_ with the flowers he’d picked still pressed between the pages, the hair combs her mother had given her (though one seemed to be missing), the pearls her father had given her mother as a wedding gift, a dark worn rock that Ian had found playing near a burn and gifted to her claiming it changed colors when wet, a pair of mittens Janet had knit for her during their Gaelic lessons.

Several envelopes had also made their way into her pack causing Brianna to panic briefly; she could have sworn that she had given her parents all of the letters she’d composed for her younger cousin’s benefit. Examining them more closely, however, Brianna clutched them tightly and fought back tears. There were five in all. Two bore her name, two Frank Randall, and one was for Joe Abernathy; three written by her mother and two by her father.

She stacked the letters and tucked them inside the cover of _Robinson Crusoe_ while she brought the food downstairs to Mrs. Graham.

“Ah, I see ye’ve made it out the bath at last,” Mrs. Graham chirped coming over and taking the food Brianna held out to her with a look of confusion.

Looking around the kitchen at Roger and Reverend Wakefield staring at her awkwardly, Brianna was convinced they had been talking about her. She felt pitiable under Roger’s gaze and self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest.

“Uh… We’ve had word back from yer father,” Reverend Wakefield spoke up as Mrs. Graham bumped him while setting the staling hunk of bread down on the counter. “He was making a few calls and then goin’ to the airport. He’ll likely be in sometime late tomorrow. Roger has volunteered to fetch him from the airport. The police would like me to bring ye down to the station in the morning to answer some questions.”

“Thank you,” Brianna murmured before turning around and walking quickly out of the room. She could hear their voices rise again as she reached the stairs but couldn’t focus enough to make out what it was they were saying.

She closed the door to the spare room and crawled into the bed taking the copy of _Robinson Crusoe_ and hugging it to her chest the way she had done with her teddy bear as a child. The book smelled of the worn pine used to construct the bookshelves in the study at Lallybroch. Clinging to that familiar scent, Brianna relaxed into the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

 

It was dark when Brianna woke. She reached for the table next to her bed, groping for the candle and the flint necessary for lighting it but the table wasn’t there. She felt the weight of the book on her chest but realized it wasn’t open. She hadn’t fallen asleep reading, then.

As she moved to sit up, she remembered where she was–– _when_ she was––and shuffled to the other side of the bed where she was able to turn a lamp on, blinking at the sudden brightness. Looking around, there was no clock she could find in the room. Guessing by the level of light she’d woken to, it was likely somewhere between two and four in the morning.

She yawned and settled back against the pillows, sighing into the easy softness and the warmth.

It was quiet through the house reinforcing the idea that everyone was asleep. Did Mrs. Graham live at the manse? Or had she gone home at the end of the day? Daddy must be on a plane now. What would she say when she saw him? What would _he_ say? That he had dropped everything to fly over immediately suggested he’d missed her too––of course he had missed her; _he_ hadn’t had any more say than she’d had about her going away like that.

She wondered what the letters her parents had written to him would say, bit her lip as she mulled over opening her own. Part of her wanted to save the letters for a time when the ache of missing them was unbearable. She hurt now but knew it was still going to get worse––it had been less than a day, after all. But what if there were something in those letters that she needed to know right away? Well, they’d have _told_ her at the stones if there was anything significant she needed to know upon arriving… wouldn’t they?

With the comfort of sleep receding further and further away, Brianna pulled out the small stack of letters again and began to sift through them at one point holding one to the light to see if she could read anything through the paper but it was too thick from its folding.

Setting the two for Frank and the one for Joe aside, Brianna then weighed each of the ones for her before choosing to read the one from her father first. The wax seal broke, a piece falling to the blankets while the majority remained adhered to the pages of the letter.

_Dearest Daughter,_

_I have no Desire to make you feel Guilt for the Decision you have made to return to your own Time, so I will limit myself to telling you how much I will miss you to just this once: though I have only known you some Months, I will miss you and think of you all my Days having started the Moment I knew you grew in your Mother’s Womb and continuing all the Days from when I left your Mother at the Stones to the Day I met you on the Road approaching Home (perhaps that ought to count as telling you twice, but if it does I am sure you will forgive me the Indulgence)._

_There are too many Things for Fathers to teach our Children in what little Time we are given. For instance, my Father never taught me that we learn as much as we impart. I have learned how much you and I share, in Looks, in Temper, in our Hearts and what we hold Dear. I have seen the Ways your Time has shaped you and the Strength it has given to you. It is a Strength I have Faith will carry you safely back to the Man who has also shaped you and who has loved you as I do. I know now the Joy of hearing you Laugh and the Pain of seeing you Cry where before I only knew the Fear of not knowing. I can only hope the Lessons I have managed to teach to you will stay with you as long as those I have learned from you will stay with me._

Brianna had to stop and crawl out of bed, her father’s already strained handwriting blurring with tears. She paced to the window and stood looking out at the moonlit drive. The manse was set apart from the more populous areas of Inverness but though she couldn’t see anything of the nearby houses, there was an aura of light that went beyond the crisp and pure light of the moon and stars. It robbed the night of its impenetrable cloak but also dulled some of the natural vibrancy she’d grown accustomed to in the world.

With a heavy sigh, she returned to bed and the letter; she would finish it but leave her mother’s unread for now. It would be too painful to read them both together.

_If I continue much longer I am afraid I will break the Promise with which I began. Though I am certain you will not forget, I feel compelled to assure you once more that I will take care of your Mother (though it is as True to say that she will take care of me). For so many Years I only had the Dream of what it would be like to have both of you with me. Despite those Years, my Dreams still fell short of the Happiness you have brought to me. It is a Happiness I believe will wear well and endure the Trials of Time and Distance._

_Thank you for all you have brought to my Life. You have made me a Father in Practice as well as Name and I could not be more proud of the Woman you are becoming. Time will bring us together once more, in this Realm or the next, and having waited fifteen Years to meet you for the first Time, I am certain any Wait will be worth it to be with you again._

_Tha gaol agam ort, mo nighean ruaidh._

_Your loving Father,_

_James Fraser_


	27. Searching for Lallybroch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna keeps herself busy until Frank arrives.

The officers at the station were hesitant to interview Brianna without a parent or guardian present but given what had been a presumed case of abduction and where her mother was still missing, they decided time was too vital to wait. It didn’t matter, though; Brianna wouldn’t tell them anything they wanted to know. 

“Do ye ken where ye were? Could ye describe the area?” She wasn’t really an officer but rather a clerk in charge of filing and keeping records. They decided Brianna would likely be more receptive if it were a woman asking the questions and, having taken down many transcriptions and copied officers’ interview notes for years, Mrs. Hamilton as quite familiar with the routine questions. 

“Yes,” Brianna responded flatly.

Mrs. Hamilton blinked and waited for Brianna to elaborate. When she didn’t, Mrs. Hamilton tried again. “ _ Would _ ye please describe where ye were?”

“No.”

“Can ye tell me anything about who it was that took ye?”

“I wasn’t taken. I was with family.” 

“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Hamilton said gently, leaning forward in a gesture of sympathy, “we know that ye dinna have much family; just yer mam and yer father. Yer da’s on his way here now and yer mam disappeared with ye. Where is she?”

“She stayed. She’s happy where she is.”

“And you werena happy?”

“I was,” Brianna insisted with a nod that came close to enthusiasm. “But I was happy here too. I wanted to see Daddy again so I came back.”

“Came back from where?”

“From where I was.” 

Mrs. Hamilton closed her eyes and looked past Brianna to an officer who had been taking notes next to Reverend Wakefield. The two of them began whispering before the officer said, “All right, Miss Randall. Reverend Wakefield can take ye home now. He’s goin’ to have ye come back again tomorrow with yer father and we’ll ask ye some more questions then.”

Brianna shrugged. “I won’t have anything new to tell you then,” she warned as she left.

“How old are ye, Miss Randall?” one of the officers asked as she and Reverend Wakefield reached the door. 

“Fourteen on my last birthday,” she answered, rolling her eyes as the officers looked to each other with subtle nods and smiles clearly dismissing some of her attitude as being customary for her age if not her sex (or both). 

Reverend Wakefield didn’t seem too amused by the officers either but was obviously relieved to have the encounter––and his responsibility for her in such a situation––over. 

“Roger will ha’ left to fetch yer father,” he said as they pulled in at the manse and he turned the car off. “I’m sure he’ll have some questions of his own but ye’ve time before they get here to prepare yerself.”

“Do you have any maps of Scotland?” Brianna asked, surprising Reverend Wakefield. 

“I… uh… Yes. I’ve quite a few maps in my study,” he stammered. 

“What about old maps?”

“Aye, though it might be a slog to find one that will help ye wi’ what ye’re lookin’ for… What uh… what is it ye’re lookin’ for?” 

“I don’t know how many miles it is but it’s a ways north of here. If I can find it on an older map I’ll be able to find where it should be on a modern one,” she explained though it was clear that Reverend Wakefield still wasn’t able to follow her reasoning. 

“Well, ye can have a look through whatever it is ye’re after in my study,” he told her. “So long as ye’re careful about it and mindful to put things back where ye find them.” He led her in and showed her the room; bookcases lined the walls and there were several expanses of wall littered with pieces of paper and push-pins. 

She started in one corner lifting pages up to see what was tacked beneath and progressed through a cluttered mess of history and life for Inverness and the surrounding area: fliers for events, lectures, estate sales with names and phone numbers jotted down or addresses underlined; handwritten copies of documents ranging from land deeds to birth and marriage registers along with notations of where the originals were kept; newspaper clippings going back before the war regarding unearthed artifacts from the region’s history as well as more recent major events. 

Brianna found a section of local newspaper clippings from the springs of 1945 and 1948 and carefully pulled the pins out carrying the faded and fragile papers to the table for closer inspection. 

_ Mrs. Claire Randall, staying in Inverness while on holiday with her husband, was last seen… _

_ It is not often that stories like the disappearance of Mrs. Claire Randall end happily after so much time has passed. However, three years after vanishing from her holiday in Inverness…  _

They were from the first time her mother had gone and come back. There was even a photo of her mother looking dazed as she emerged from the hospital, clinging to Daddy’s arm while he sought to shield her from the camera. 

“There were quite a few like that this past autumn,” Mrs. Graham’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she glanced down at the clippings Brianna had laid out on the table, then looked back to the small bare space on the board where she’d found them. The tea service clattered quietly as Mrs. Graham set it down a few inches away from the papers. “Ye’ll understand why, of course. The Reverend has some of them if ye’d like to see though I think he’s set them aside somewhere more private out of respect to Mr. Randall.”

Brianna looked up at Mrs. Graham who offered her a sympathetic smile and a biscuit. 

“I dinna think that’s what it was ye were lookin’ for on the Reverend’s boards,” Mrs. Graham observed, pouring a cup of tea for herself. 

“I want to find Lallybroch,” Brianna explained. “I don’t know exactly where it is on modern maps, but I know it’s near Broch Mordha. I thought it might be included on older maps and then I can find it so I can get Daddy to take me there when he gets here.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Graham nodded with an understanding Brianna knew was incomplete. 

“I don’t want to take him to just make him see it,” she continued. “Though… I do want him to see it just because it’s…” She had been about to say, ‘home,’ but it couldn’t be home to her now, not in this time; though, she wasn’t sure Boston could be home again either. She shook her head to push the thought to the back of her mind. “They promised they’d leave me… something––something to let me know how they did after I’d gone, something so I could find them again if I needed to.”

“And ye think it’ll be at Lallybroch?”

“That… or something that might point me in the right direction.”

Mrs. Graham set her teacup aside and pushed herself up from the table. “The maps ye’ll be wanting…” she began approaching the Reverend’s boards with an evaluative eye familiar with the underlying organization––if it existed––and scanned for the landmarks that would guide her in the right direction, “are over… here.” She pulled down a large envelope, opening it and pulling the maps out carefully. “Didna want to be pokin’ holes in them.”

They crinkled as she unfolded them and used some books stacked nearby to hold the corners down. 

The tips of Brianna’s fingers reverently skimmed the page in search of Broch Mordha. The standing stones weren’t shown on the map either but she could figure whereabouts they were in relation to Inverness and slowly traced the route she thought she had taken with her parents back the way they’d come, skirting the lochs and with a row of mountains visible in the distance on one side. 

“Is there a topographical map?” she asked, her fingers resting firmly about an inch from where Broch Mordha appeared. Lallybroch would be nestled in the valley nearby. 

Mrs. Graham rose to check the Reverend’s boards again while Brianna kept one finger on the map and ate her biscuit with the other. 

“Bree?!” Frank called as he threw open the door at the back of the manse. Absorbed in her searching, Brianna hadn’t noticed Roger’s car pulling down the drive but the sound of her name––in a familiar voice but with a note of fear and worry that tugged at her heart––brought her to her feet in a moment. 

“Daddy?” she called back as she left the study and listened for where Frank had wandered in his hasty searching. 

He had already made it halfway up the flight of stairs and Brianna gasped as he spun back into sight on the landing to race back down. 

She let her tears flow as his arms wrapped around her. “I missed you, Daddy,” she murmured into his shoulder. 

“You’re all right,” he was muttering quietly. “Oh thank god, you’re all right.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” she told him suddenly aware that he was shaking. 

His hands moved to her arms as he pushed her back so he could look at her. 

“Your mother… I’m so sorry, Bree. I never would have thought she’d do something like that to you,” Frank apologized with frustration and guilt bubbling below the surface. 

Brianna blinked and frowned at Frank. “She wouldn’t have had to if you’d both told me the truth––or not the whole truth, obviously but you could have told me some of it. And you were the one who went looking for him––and found him––and didn’t tell Mama. How did you think she’d react when she found out?”

Frank looked as though he’d been slapped and seemed to suddenly become aware of the fact that they were standing in an open area of the house and that their volume was rising. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he tried to insist. “What matters is that you’re back and we can resume our lives.”

Brianna looked to the study, the door still open and Mrs. Graham presumably inside keeping herself busy and trying not to eavesdrop. 

“I don’t want to go back to Boston––not yet. I… I need to find something here first––in Scotland,” Brianna asserted. 

Frank was shaking his head in confusion and resistance.

“Come on,” Brianna said, taking his hand. “I’ve just about found it on the map. We can go tomorrow or the day after maybe.”

Frank allowed himself to be led into the study where Mrs. Graham had laid out a second map on the table.

“I found the one ye were lookin’ for, Miss Bree. Would ye care for some tea, Mr. Randall? I’ve prepared a room for ye upstairs.”

“Roger already took my bag up, as I understand it,” Frank said watching Brianna find Broch Mordha on the map again and then pull over the second map for comparison. “What are you looking for, Bree?”

She smiled as she tapped a depression on the topographical map. “Lallybroch. I want to show it to you.”

“Bree… I don’t… I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Frank cautioned before appealing to reason. “How do you expect to explain what you’re doing there to the people who own it now?” 

She shrugged dismissively. “We’ll say we read about it in your research or something. We have to go though. I want to show it to you but I also want to see if Mama and Da left anything behind for me––they said they would.”

“Why did they send you back?” Frank asked cautiously, afraid of touching unseen wounds. 

“I told them I wanted to come back,” Brianna explained. She didn’t look at Frank; didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes. “When we got there, Mama promised I could come back anytime I wanted to. I missed you and I… I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Bree, darling,” Frank sighed. He rested a hand gently on her head, slowly stroking her hair and wondering how it could seem so much ruddier than in his memory. “I have missed you terribly.”

“Did you try looking for me?” she asked, turning under his hand so that he ended up caressing her cheek, so much less round than it had been in her youth. He noted that the surer lines of her face weren’t the only changes marking her newfound maturity; there was a weight to her gaze that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. 

“Of course I did. There wasn’t much I could do during the term but I tried to pick up on the trail. I knew your mother would find him which meant the two of you would be wherever he ended up. I came over the winter holidays to do some research but it wasn’t enough time. I was planning to spend all summer here looking,” he informed her. Relief and awe flooded his face. “I’m glad I don’t have to now. I’m glad we can spend the summer getting you settled back home and caught up on your schoolwork.”

Brianna looked away back to the map. She couldn’t think about going back to Boston until she had her answers and she wasn’t sure what she would do about school and her friends; she had missed them at first but she didn’t see how anything would be the same with them now that she was back––she wasn’t sure she wanted things to be the way they had been. 

“Why did you look for him?” she asked quietly. “Mama said you didn’t believe her so why did you look?”

Frank played with his jaw while he avoided Brianna’s piercing eyes––eyes he’d always known came from another man and this wasn’t the first time he’d felt a sense of that man looking out through them and judging him. 

“I didn’t believe her––would you have in my place?” Frank began, his tone a little defensive but as the blue eyes shifted back to being just Brianna’s, he was able to inject gentleness back into his voice. “I didn’t want to believe her either. So we didn’t talk about it. But you know I like to look through my ancestry, finding little odds and ends, getting original copies of things if I can… I found a marriage register for Jonathan Randall and Mary Hawkins… I recognized your mother’s handwriting first and then realized it was the name she said she’d used then… and his signature was right there beside hers.”

He looked at Brianna again with something behind his eyes; an apology, perhaps. “It was like being bit by a mosquito; I couldn’t help scratching it and the more I scratched, the more it itched. I don’t know what I would have done with all that I’d found––I hadn’t finished finding things yet. I… I think I would have saved it for you––for when you were older, for… for when I was gone.” 

He had been so afraid of what she and Claire might do or say if they found out about James Fraser. Claire had done almost exactly what he’d feared; there was a strong impulse to laugh and a brief flash of satisfaction over that fact. The last ten years Claire had felt more and more a stranger to him, but he still knew something about her. He hadn’t known what to expect from Brianna though; none of what he’d imagined had been particularly comforting so he had wanted to keep it from her… but she was here with him now despite it all. It was difficult to believe that she had come back just for him and there was certainly something else on her mind. He wanted to pry but the intervening months had had an impact on her and it was going to take some time to figure out exactly where they stood. 

Brianna turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. Relief flooded through him as he held her tight. 

“I think you would have told me sooner than that,” she said quietly. “And I’m glad you’ll believe me. Please let me take you to Lallybroch; say you’ll help me find them.” 

Frank sighed. If it would make Brianna happier––if it would help her let them go… 

“All right, Bree. We’ll find this Lallybroch and you can look for whatever sign it is you think they’ll have left behind for you,” he promised. 


	28. Searching for a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna and Frank go to Lallybroch to see if Claire and Jamie left a message behind for Brianna.

Brianna asked him to stop the car as they crested the valley and Frank reluctantly pulled over to the side of the road. She was out of the car and around to his side before he realized what she was doing and he hastened to turn off the ignition as she pulled at his door and grabbed for his hand.

“It’s just down the other side of this rise,” she was telling him. “Mama and I got a horse in Inverness but we gave him a break and were walking this last part when we first came. There’s a lop-sided tower that’s why it’s called Lallybroch, though the proper name is Broch Tuarach.” She did her best to pronounce the names with the proper accent though she knew Frank was only humoring her with the trip. She couldn’t tamp down her excitement and eagerness, however, and could only hope the history of the place would pique his interest in spite of what it might represent to him, that he could appreciate it for what it meant to her.

There were tears in her eyes as she turned to find the house amongst the trees, the field stretching beyond to the stone tower. But what she saw caused a broken sound to escape from her as her hands flew to her mouth to trap it.

The roof was gone and part of the tower was crumbling. The field looked overrun and wild and some of the trees had been cleared leaving the house looking exposed and vulnerable.

It had been less than two weeks for her but two hundred years had passed. She’d known, of course, that no one she knew would be waiting there for her when she wandered up to the door but she had expected it to still be home to _someone_ , to be alive and bustling.

Frank’s arm came up around her shoulder and he pulled her to him.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let’s go back to the car. You can take as much time as you need to decide if you want to keep going or if you want to turn back.”

“Keep going,” she said as they turned around. She discreetly wiped at the wetness in her eyes when they parted so she could climb into the passenger side.

Frank bit his tongue as he eased back onto the road and continued down the hill towards the apparently abandoned property.

It was clear from the yard that the house had fallen into quite a bit of disrepair beyond the collapsed roof. The windows were boarded up and there was a chain across the door. Brianna ran up the stairs and tried it anyway but the chain held.

“I don’t mind you poking about,” Frank told her trying the door himself, “but I draw the line at breaking and entering.”

“It’s okay. I don’t _think_ they’d have left anything for me inside,” she said with more than a little doubt in her voice. There had been several loose floorboards in her parents’ bedroom where they’d spent so many nights reading before the fire and if the bookcases and desk were still in the study papers could have been tucked away in there as well; there might even be something etched into the wooden beams or scratched into a stone somewhere like the height marks that Claire had traced on the back of the pantry door in the kitchen in Boston.

Brianna reached out to touch the gouges that remained in the door frame. The edges were smoother now but she still remembered Uncle Ian telling her about them and the men who’d put them there.

“British soldiers made these,” she told Frank quietly. “In the years after Culloden when they were ravaging the countryside and terrorizing the families. You know… Black Jack Randall? He came here once––to Lallybroch. Da wasn’t much older than I am now.”

“Your mother told me a little about it once,” Frank confessed. “I didn’t pay much attention, though. I didn’t want to hear it.”

“She didn’t say much about it to me but he had Da arrested and flogged. I could feel the scars on his back when I hugged him,” she said, her fingers traveling the grooved wood again; these were deeper, more defined.

“He was in hiding for some time after the battle, wasn’t he?” Frank said, turning on the step to survey the yard and the woods beyond. “I found his prison records and searched for the account of his trial but the transcripts from those trials are woefully incomplete. I… I wondered about how he was finally captured but couldn’t find anything on the subject.”

“He wasn’t. He hid on the grounds here for seven years. They brought him supplies when they could and he would come up to the house at night every few weeks… But the estate struggled. Mama had told them to plant potatoes and they helped but they were still slowly starving,” Brianna explained as she walked down the steps and began crossing the yard to the treeline. “He arranged for one of the tenants so someone could collect the reward. The money went back into the estate and it’s how they managed to survive.”

The awe in her voice was unmistakeable and it made Frank clench his jaw reflexively. She had chosen to come back, he reminded himself. She had been there with Fraser and Claire and had _chosen_ to come back. If she spoke this way about Fraser and had still chosen to leave him behind––to leave _Claire_ behind too… Thinking of it that way helped calm the unease that always rose in this stomach at the thought of Fraser but also left confusion in its wake; _why_ had she chosen to leave them behind, to travel back alone?

“Don’t go in too far, Bree,” Frank warned when he started to lose sight of her from his place at the edge of the yard. “I don’t want you getting yourself lost.”

“I’m not gonna get lost,” she insisted, popping out from behind a tree. “Come on. I know where I’m going.”

Frowning and looking back over his shoulder at the car parked in the abandoned yard––there hadn’t seemed to be anyone nearby as they drove up to the house so he hoped the car would be safe left there––he eased his way into the brush following Brianna. The terrain was uneven and awkward beneath his feet. He hadn’t dressed for a hike through the woods, assuming they would be begging to be let into an old house and either treated to tea or turned away outright. Researching was something that took place in libraries and archives, dusty but not at all messy and overgrown the way the long untended grounds at Lallybroch had become.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Frank called to Brianna who moved with the ease and grace of youth.

“Of course. This is along the trapping route Da and I set up over the winter,” she informed him. But her pace had slowed and not just to allow him to keep up with her. She was pausing more frequently to look at the trees around her and to the rocky terrain occasionally visible between them; she craned her neck at one point as though listening for something.

“I believe you spent a great deal of time in these woods, darling,” Frank tried to say gently, “but you must remember that it’s been a lot longer for the trees and plants than it has been for you.” He watched her face and neck darken with self-consciousness and moved past her to sit on a large felled log, adjusting his shoe so she wouldn’t have to feel him watching her in her embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” she persisted. “Are you ready? It’s still a ways to get there.”

Frank caught himself before sighing too loudly and turned it into a grunt as he got to his feet again. “And where is it you’re taking me?”

“Da’s cave,” she said, starting again. “It’s where he hid after Culloden. It’s not the sort of place you just stumble on if you don’t already know it’s there so it would be the perfect place for them to leave me a message.”

Frank bit his tongue as they made their way deeper into the woods and gradually uphill. They had to double back a bit only once as Brianna’s feet found their way forward and she was right about missing the cave if you didn’t know it was there. Several large tree limbs blocked the entrance and made climbing to get in difficult.

“These trees…” she muttered with surprise but dropped it as she let the branches bounce back to their original position once they were safely in the cave.

“We should have brought a torch,” Frank remarked, feeling his way along the rocky inner walls to gauge the dimensions; he feared he would strike his head if he stood straighter but the bones of his back objected strongly to his stooped posture.

“The leaves never used to block the light like that,” she informed him, dropping into a crouch and feeling along the crack where the uneven cave floor met the walls.

Frank moved back toward the entrance where he could stand more comfortably and held the branches out of the way as best he could to allow sunlight to filter in. He took deep lungfuls of the clean air only realizing as he did so how suffocated he’d felt in the cramped dim moments earlier. Even with more light, the space would feel claustrophobic after a few minutes. He looked down to Brianna’s fiery head bent to her task. It wouldn’t be pleasant to be stuck in such surroundings for so long, but with the proper motivation…

“Thanks, Daddy,” Brianna said as she continued scrambling about on her hands and knees.

His arms grew tired and there were more and more sounds of frustration and desperation coming from Brianna.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked shifting so the burden of the branch fell more to his other arm.

“I can’t… find anything.”

“What is it you’re looking for? Something carved on the wall?”

“I don’t know. I thought there’d be a box or packet… something hidden or buried. Da found a few cracks and spaces for hiding things––made a few himself––but… they’re all empty.” The last came out as a whimper of defeat.

Frank had to let the branch go and the light was immediately blocked again. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust then sank to his bottom and scooted across the thin layer of packed dirt that softened the harsh edges of rock underneath.

“Bree, it’s been a _long_ time since they would have left anything here. There’s a good chance that someone else––someone completely unrelated––could have found it and… Maybe they would have donated it to a museum or a local records office? We can check around.”

Brianna sniffed in the dark and Frank used the noise to guide him as he found her shoulders and looped an arm around them. “Broch Mordha. That was the closest village. Maybe if someone else found it they would’ve brought it there. Oh, but what if it’s in the house?”

“Now that we know the property is abandoned––or at the least, it’s unlived-in––we can look into the records for that too. We might be able to find someone with a key… Is… is there _any_ other way you can think they might have tried to leave you a message?”

Brianna started in his arms. “The newspaper. When I… well, before I decided to come back, I wanted to try and get a message to you. I knew you’d try to find me and Da said he’d help me write up a notice to send to Edinburgh to have printed––I even had a draft to go with the notice for Jamie and Joan’s wedding but… that’s about when I decided to come back so, I never sent it. But Da would know it’s somewhere I might look.”

“A wedding notice? Did the wedding have anything to do with you deciding to come back?” Frank couldn’t help indulging his curiosity.

“Not the wedding, really… But… a week or so _after_ …”

“Did something happen? Did someone… _do_ something…” Frank started to press when Brianna she stalled.

“Nothing _happened_ … Mama… she found out… she’s pregnant,” Brianna whispered.

Frank thought of a rather long list of things to say but found he couldn’t speak. At any rate, they were things he would have wanted to say to Claire, not Brianna, so he remained silent and still.

“It was wonderful news, of course,” Brianna went on, beginning to babble, “and I wanted to be happy for them––I _am_ happy for them,” she insisted to herself with a bit too much force. “But…” her voice dropped again and feeling the heat coming off her face where she leaned against his chest, Frank was thankful for the darkness. “I _couldn’t_ stay. I couldn’t bring myself to watch them with a new baby––to see the three of them and _know_ … It all made me miss you even more and… they didn’t need me in the way.”

“You would not have been in their way,” Frank finally found something his throat would allow him to say. “I… I understand what you mean about not being able to… to watch them… but you wouldn’t have been in their way.”

Brianna smiled against him. “I know but… I would have felt like I was.”

“Well… for what it’s worth, I’m glad you came back––whatever the reason. And… we’ll find them and figure out how things turned out. The Edinburgh paper, you said? That was the one you planned to send the message to?”

Brianna sat up on her own again, Frank letting his arm drop from around her shoulders as she reached up and wiped at her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking as it occurred to her that there might be a quicker way for her to learn what had happened to her parents––one that made her shudder and recoil. As much as part of her wanted to take Frank to see the graves of the grandparents she’d been named for, Brianna was too afraid of what else she might find there.

“Are you cold? We should probably start back to the car anyway,” Frank said, groaning as he pushed himself up from the floor and ducked awkwardly to get back out without striking the rocky protrusions that comprised the cave’s ‘ceiling.’

* * *

That night, Brianna knocked quietly on the door to the room Reverend Wakefield had offered Frank.

Frank was in his pajamas, a dressing gown fastened about his waist. He was sitting in bed atop the blankets and had a hardcover book in his lap closed with a finger from his left hand marking his place while his balanced a notepad on it to copy something for later reference. His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose and the lenses––thicker than she remembered––distorted the size of his eyes when he looked up at her.

“Yes?”

She crossed and held out a packet of papers. “There’s two letters there for you––one from Mama and one from Da,” she explained as he put his book and notes down in order to take the packet.

He turned them over and ran a thumb over the thick wax seals. The third set of papers had been folded in half and were unsealed. “And this?”

“I wrote to you,” Brianna said quietly. “It was… kind of like a diary. There isn’t much––I only started it after the holidays––but I thought you might like to read it.”

“I would, thank you.”


	29. A Sense of Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire return to Lallybroch and must readjust to their life there once more, this time without Brianna.

Young Ian spotted them as they made their way down the road and into the valley so by the time their wagon came into the yard, Jenny and Ian were waiting for them. 

“I’ve set Mrs. Crook to find ye a bite,” Jenny told them as Jamie helped Claire down from her seat. She arched her back and twisted as best she could in her effort to work out the kinks and ease the stiffness in her joints. 

“Thank you, Jenny,” she said. “I’ll have a little something but then I think I’m going to just go up to bed. I need to lie down in a proper bed again.”

Jenny smiled and nodded, glancing to Jamie to see how his spirits were. He had already moved to help unload the supplies from the wagon. Seed, equipment, and a few boxes with household necessities served as an adequate distraction to most of the household’s inhabitants but young Ian had a string of questions that only his aunt and uncle could answer.

“How big is the ship that Bree’s on? What do the docks in Edinburgh smell like? How long’ll it be till she gets to Boston?”

“Leave off, Ian,” his father warned him. “Let yer poor uncle settle in now he’s home. They’ve had a long time of it and it’s no so an easy journey to make.”

The boy heaved a sigh and dragged himself away from the adults, his impatience trailing behind him. 

“Thank ye,” Jamie said to his brother-in-law as he settled a crate in the barn. The tools inside rattled in their protective wrappings but he was too tired to bother unpacking them further. They could wait a day or two, till after he’d had a chance to check the fields and the recently planted crops.

“How’re you and Claire taking it?” Ian asked quietly. “I ken what havin’ our Jamie away from the main house has done to Jenny and he’s not but a few minutes’ walk away.”

“We’ll find our way,” Jamie assured him weakly. But Ian saw how tired and worn Jamie looked and gave him a firm pat on the back.

“Go on inside. See to Claire. It’ll be harder on her wi’ the bairn.”

Jamie just nodded and let his feet carry him across the yard and into the house. Jenny stopped him only long enough to give him a hug and send him up to bed with a small tray for he and Claire to share. 

She was lying on her side atop the bedclothes. She had slipped off her shoes, not wanting to get dirt in the bed, but had taken no other measures to make herself more comfortable. 

Jamie set the tray on the trunk at the foot of the bed and removed his boots so he could climb onto the bed beside her, wrap himself around her and rest his hand atop hers on her belly. 

“Lord,” Jamie whispered quietly into Claire’s hair, “that she made it back and is safe.”

“Amen,” Claire murmured before closing her eyes and giving herself over to the warmth of having Jamie at her back, the comfort of a soft bed beneath her, and the emotional exhaustion of the last fortnight. 

“I used to dream of ye like this,” Jamie told Claire quietly. “Even long after ye would have had Bree, this is how ye’d come to me.” He rubbed his hand lazily over her belly. “I think… I think it was because I clearly remembered how ye were when ye carried Faith––the way it felt to hold ye just so, the weight of ye when I took ye. The bairn… there was too much there I didna know… but now…”

“I keep thinking of things I should have told her,” Claire responded. “Things it’s now too late to tell her.”

“Maybe so, maybe no. She’ll look for us,  _ mo nighean donn _ , and we’ve said we’ll leave her a message. There’s naught but us to decide how short or long that message may be.”

Claire tried to shift on the bed but her stays and skirts made it difficult and she groaned with frustration.

“Let me help ye,” Jamie offered, raising himself and turning to help her get herself upright. She had to lean back as the bulge of her belly got in the way. Jamie’s fingers made quick work of the laces. “Did Bree tell ye she kept a record for Frank?”

“What?” Claire asked as she pulled her arms from the sleeves of her bodice exposing the underlying stays for Jamie. “What sort of record? You mean like a diary?”

Jamie shrugged. “I didna see close enough to tell exactly but she wanted something she could leave for him to find did he look for her. Far as I see, she took it wi’ her.”

“So you’re suggesting we keep a diary that we can leave somewhere for Bree to find?” she clarified, sighing with relief as Jamie stripped off her stays. She pulled at the neckline of her shift and glanced down to see the marks along her body where the boning had pressed uncomfortably into her flesh. It wouldn’t be much longer before she would give up on her regular stays altogether. She had no reason to conceal or restrict the bounds of her condition in an attempt to be fashionable; far better to be comfortable and let both her and the child have their necessary space. She felt a stretching of agreement from the growing body within hers. 

Jamie had removed his stock and vest while she was enjoying her renewed freedom. 

“I dinna see why not. That way it can be as much or as little as ye need and as often as ye need,” he whispered, kissing her temple and taking hold of her hips to rotate them so he could reach the ties of her skirts. “It’s for  _ you _ more’n it’ll be for her but she’ll appreciate it all the same.”

Claire rose from the bed and let the skirts fall to the floor. She felt the impulse to bend and retrieve them, to properly put away all her clothes for the day wash over her and slip away. Instead she lifted her bodice and stays and dropped them into the pile before pulling back the bedclothes and slipping under. Jamie’s breeks followed his stock and vest into a pile of their own on the other side of the bed and then he joined her under the covers. 

“I’ll look through the study tomorrow,” he promised. “I’m sure I’ll find something ye can use to copy yer thoughts to in there.” He pulled her to his chest again and they both sighed with greater relief than before, physical exhaustion overpowering the numbness of their longing for Brianna and pushing them towards their first restful sleep in over a week.

* * *

Claire sat at the table in her stillroom that functioned as her desk. Jamie had found not one but two ledgers that were too small for he and Ian to use practically in keeping the estate’s accounts.

She had already decided to use one to record what medical details were necessary and prudent with regards to the Lallybroch tenants she treated and the state of her herbal stores. That was the ledger she had open before her with three pages of notes already causing her hand to cramp. 

The second book––the one they would somehow find a way to preserve for Brianna––she was finding more difficult to begin. None of the things she wanted to tell Brianna like how she kept trying to pretend that the feeling of leaving the hill was like the ache she’d felt on Brianna’s first day of school or dropping her off at summer camp, anything to lessen that pain… or how she wished she had one of Brianna’s old stuffed toys, the ones that smelled like Brianna, to hold onto at night and bury her face in… None of those things felt like an appropriate place to begin things. 

But the alternatives she tried to mentally compose felt absurdly formal. Brianna would know that her aunt and uncle and cousins all missed her; mentioning how long it had taken them to find the things they wanted in Edinburgh was as tedious as discussing the weather; anything to do with her pregnancy and the coming baby felt like she was feeding into the very fears and insecurities that had driven Brianna away in the first place. 

So Claire resorted to copying down another of her recipes for tinctures and ointments, for infusions and salves; she retreated to the sanctuary and objectivity of carefully measured ingredients and the science of mixing. 

Janet slipped into the stillroom without making enough noise to draw attention to herself so she cleared her throat and asked, “Auntie Claire?”

Claire started and put her hand protectively over the closed and still blank ledger that was going to be for Brianna. “What is it?”

“Word’s come up from the Russell croft of a bad fall their oldest boy’s had,” Janet related. “Something’s wrong wi’ his arm and his mam’s afeared he’ll be losin’ it.”

Claire nodded and quickly rose, grabbing a canvas bag from nearby and tossing it onto the table. “Can you help me pack that? I’ll need bandages and a suture kit to be safe,” she started muttering to herself as she pulled supplies from cupboards and shelves. “How far is it to walk?”

“Not more’n a mile,” Janet guessed as she made sure to pack softer items around anything breakable or sharp. 

“Do you think  you’d be able to come with me and help carry my bag?” Claire asked. She should be able to make it on her own but the strain of carrying the heavy bag that far in her condition would upset Jamie and she didn’t want to take  _ any  _ unnecessary risks with this pregnancy or her marriage. “I’ll need someone to show me the way and if you’re not too busy…”

“I can help ye, aye,” Janet agreed with a lack of both enthusiasm and reluctance. 

Claire refrained from commenting on the matter and after completing her mental checklist, she grabbed the medical ledger she’d started and waved an arm signalling for Janet to lead the way. 

It proved a quiet walk with Claire making small inquiries into Janet’s knowledge of the Russells and the purported patient. Janet’s answers came readily and lacked embellishment or extraneous information. Grant Russell was fourteen and had one older sister and two more younger brothers who were still too young to help their father with the farm work. It was one of the younger brothers who had come with the news of his fall and he hadn’t been able to provide too much useful information about the injury itself other than that it was Grant’s arm. 

“How well do you handle the sight of blood?” Claire asked Janet. 

“Well enough I suppose. I helped Mam wi’ cuts and things before you and Bree came back.” 

“And what about things like broken bones?” 

Janet slowed for a moment to shift the bag of supplies from one shoulder to the other.

“Haven’t had to so far as I can remember.”

“And I know from observation that you take instruction well,” Claire said hoping it came off as the compliment she intended it to be. “You also seem fairly capable at calming people down.”

Janet flushed and shook her head dismissively. “I dinna ken that––”

“You had more patience helping Bree with her Gaelic lessons––especially when she became frustrated––than I ever did helping her to learn her French,” Claire interrupted. 

A sad smile spread across Janet’s face. “She would help me wi’ my equations and… I liked havin’ her there.”

Claire nodded and watched Janet from the corner of her eye as they progressed toward the Russell croft. Since their arrival at Lallybroch, Claire observed that Janet was easily the quietest and calmest of her siblings but she seemed to have gotten even quieter since Brianna had gone. 

Before Claire could say anything further, they had arrived at the Russell croft and found the inhabitants in a frantic state and Claire’s focus shifted immediately to the reason why they were there.

“One of the first things I’m going to need you to do is get water boiling,” Claire began, picking up her pace. “Anyone who’s too emotional needs to be out of the room and put to work with something that will keep them busy. Depending on the injury, we might need someone strong enough to hold the boy steady.”

“Yes, Auntie Claire,” Janet said as she walked faster too. 

* * *

Grant’s right arm had been both broken and dislocated, the snapped ends of radius and ulna protruding from a third of the way up his arm from the wrist. It would cause the boy a great deal of pain to reset both the joint and then the bones but there was no spurting from the wound so Claire reassured Mrs. Russell that there was no reason to perform an amputation just yet. Janet paled a little at the sight of the injury but quickly stepped in to have Mrs. Russell help her with gathering the materials Claire would need for cleaning and treating the injury.

Claire had Mr. Russell and one of the younger boys hold Grant steady while she first gave the patient a familiar strip of leather with indentations left from several mouths of teeth. Tears leaked from Grant’s eyes as Claire tried to disturb the lower arm as little as possible while repositioning the upper arm so she could push it into the socket. 

“I’m afraid this is going to hurt a great deal,” she warned Grant. 

“Wait, Auntie Claire!” Janet interrupted and brought forth a horn cup full of whisky. She pulled the strip of leather from between Grant’s teeth and held the cup as she gave him the burning liquor in small sips until his eyes had gone glassy, then she gently put the leather back between his teeth and with a brief glance to Claire asked, “Do ye think ye’ll need more whisky?”

Before the boy could respond, Claire had made her move. It didn’t take as much physical strength to get the shoulder back into joint as she’d thought––thinking back over her medical school training, she knew they’d covered dislocations in the textbook, but the last one she was sure she’d performed herself had been the day she’d met Jamie and there was a significant size difference between young Grant Russell and the young man Jamie had been. 

Grant passed out, his father catching him before he could fall off the chair. 

Claire looked to Janet who was pressing her lips together with surprise… and perhaps a dash of amusement. 

“Janet, I want you to hold his head steady and keep that bit of leather between his teeth,” Claire instructed. “I don’t think he’ll rouse while I pull these bones back through and set them but on the off chance he does…” she trailed off as Grant’s father and brother tightened their grips on his uninjured shoulder and torso. “I’ll need one of you to hold his elbow steady here,” she added, resting a hand on the top of her belly as she shifted position. The child inside had started to move, eager to be a part of the excitement. She rubbed in soothing circles, willing the tiny being to be calm and let her work without disruption until the worst was over for the poor boy in front of her.  

There were a few gasps as Claire examined the protruding bones and surrounding torn flesh, checking for stray bone fragments and feeling for where the other splintered ends were beneath the skin for alignment purposes before slowly pulling the bones through and setting the arm. She made quick work of the handful of sutures the flesh of the arm needed and then set about folding a thick pad of linen to cover it before she splinted the arm. Once the split was secure, she dismissed the Russells explaining she only needed Janet there to hand her what she needed and that Mrs. Russell should be told that Grant was doing well. 

“If I show you how to properly check and clean these without disturbing the bones, do you think you’d be able to do it on your own?” Claire asked. She wished there was a better way to immobilize the whole arm so the shoulder joint could heal but she couldn’t strap it across Grant’s chest with the lower arm splinted; she might want to experiment at Lallybroch to see if she could concoct an effective plaster to use for casts in the future…

“Aye, I think I could manage… though I’d be more comfortable wi’ the notion did I know ye’d be there to step in if I needed ye,” Janet answered honestly. 

“I shouldn’t be walking so far to check these,” Claire confided, “and Grant here won’t be able to come to Lallybroch easily––especially not if something goes wrong and the wound becomes infected.”

Janet swallowed and nodded. “I can manage then.”

“I’ll be sure to go over it with you until you’re comfortable with it. And once you’ve done it a few times, you’ll wonder why it was you were so worried.”

Janet nodded and watched intently as Claire reviewed it with her several times. When they left, Claire explained that Janet would be by in a day or two to see how Grant did and change his bandages. Knowing that it was a task Claire considered small enough for Janet to handle on her own proved reassuring to Mrs. Russell and to her husband and other sons. The confidence Claire showed in Janet had the girl blushing as they started to walk back home. 

“You did well in there today. You have good instincts for healing. I’ll be needing more and more help the closer it gets to the baby coming,” Claire mused. “And then when the baby’s born… Do you think you’d be interested in learning from me?”

Janet seemed stunned. “Yes… I think so… That is… if Mam doesna mind.”

“I’ll speak with her about it.” 

It might only have been Claire’s imagination or simply the weariness of a busy day, but the walk back to Lallybroch seemed to pass faster than their walk to the Russells’ croft. 

After speaking with Jenny, Claire went back to her stillroom and opened the ledger to record the details of Grant Russell’s injuries and treatment before they slipped her mind. Then when she was done, she moved to the blank ledger to finally write something for Brianna.

_ I’m sure you won’t be the least surprised to learn I’ve thrown myself into my work. It is where I find myself whenever I feel how little there is in the world that I can control; medicine is one of them and whenever I’m at work the chaos of the rest settles enough for me to breathe and regain my bearings. It’s a habit I believe you possess too and I hope you have found a project that will help you to regain your own sense of control as you too readjust. I remember how easy it was to become overwhelmed… _


	30. Fear and Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the summer wears on and Claire's pregnancy advances, Jamie's fears rear their head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains material that may be considered NSFW.

Janet began helping Claire around the stillroom and in the herb garden so that as Claire’s belly grew larger, Janet was able to take over the physical aspects of Claire’s daily routine while Claire talked her through everything. Jamie settled a more comfortable bench out in the garden and tasked Janet with making sure Claire brought a parasol out with her to shield her from the sun on those days when it was necessary. 

“I won’t break you know,” Claire insisted one afternoon as Jamie checked on the two of them and scolded her for attempting to crouch and demonstrate the proper way to space the plants. She squinted at him, the sun in her face as she wiped her hands on her apron before brushing a curl from her forehead and leaving a smear of soil from the edge of her brow to her temple. 

Jamie cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her until she put her hands on her hips in exasperation. The gesture made the swell of her belly more prominent and Jamie’s expression dissolved into amusement. He reached out and wiped away the smudge on her face before kissing her lightly and caressing her belly for a moment. 

“I ken ye’re right and I’m sorry. Cannae help but worry for the two of ye,” he told her. 

She rested her hand over his. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

He kissed her again and walked away. 

As the spring grew into an unusually hot summer, Claire was grateful for every bit of shade that parasol provided. Janet suggested Claire stay inside and watch her tend the garden from the window rather than overexert herself. Claire sighed but complied, taking the opportunity to catch up on notations to the medicinal records she kept. She dozed as the afternoon wore on and nearly spilled the contents of the inkwell as she started to wakefulness when Janet plopped her basket of herbs onto the table for sorting and binding. 

“Are ye all right, Auntie Claire?” Janet asked with a frown. “If ye’re tired ye ought to go up and lie yerself down. Take a proper rest.”

“I think I will,” Claire agreed, setting her things aside and rising. “You don’t need any help first?”

“I can manage,” Janet assured her with a smile. Helping Claire with her herbs and remedies as well as learning a bit of healing had brought a bit of Janet’s spirits back in the last two months. It was only quiet attention and someone to talk to but Claire was happy to give it and thankful for the distraction it provided. 

Aside from Janet and the younger Ian, the Murray children were by and large wrapped up in their own lives, so many vibrant threads overlapping and weaving together here and there but each distinct. Maggie and Kitty were both hard at work on sewing the clothes and linens that would accompany them to their husbands’ houses when the young men who’d been courting them finally spoke to Ian––he expected Kitty’s young man was ready to come to terms but that Kitty was urging him to wait until after Maggie and her suitor had settled first. Michael was following Fergus around to have his French tested in anticipation of his approaching departure for university. And though Claire hadn’t spent much time with her oldest nephew’s wife before their wedding, as Joan settled into her life as a wife and future mistress of Lallybroch, it was to Claire that she turned with her questions about what she ought to do in order to conceive. 

“You’ve only been married a few weeks,” Claire placated the young bride. “These things take time.”

Joan had only eyed the wool stretched across Claire’s front. 

“It took months for Jamie and I to conceive our first child,” Claire confessed. “And before that I thought I was barren. I’d been married once before for several years and it never happened. You still have plenty of time. You should be enjoying this time with just the two of you while you can. When you have children there’ll be no getting it back.”

Not without something drastic interfering, at least. 

Claire puzzled over the differences between each of her three pregnancies as she slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor, to the waiting comfort of her bed. She was understandably uncomfortable but she tried to discern the degree to which that was due to her pregnancy and how much of it had to do with her age. She was sweating and panting by the time she reached her room. 

She wanted to throw herself back on the bed and just sleep but the room was stifling. Throwing open the window, Claire breathed deeply and let it out slowly. She might as well start practicing breathing exercises. If her calculations were correct, she had about two months left. She groaned. Two months of the height of summer. 

The tightness of her clothing became oppressive and sweat pooled between her breasts, at the base of her spine; it soaked her hairline and was making her thighs chafe when she walked. She needed relief and so began loosening the laces down the front of her dress, sighing as her already full and sensitive breasts were released from their confinement. She moved on to her skirt, pausing to pull the damp fabric of her shift away from the skin of her chest allowing cooler air to slip in. 

* * *

Jamie came upstairs later in the evening after Claire missed dinner, Janet mentioning that she’d gone up to rest earlier in the afternoon.

He opened the door slowly and chuckled when he saw her lying in the bed with all the blankets lying in a heap at the foot of the bed except for the lightest linen sheet tucked up under her armpits. The sheet was thin enough he could see she was completely naked underneath, the fabric pulled taut over the mound of her enormous belly and the twin smaller rises of her swollen breasts. One hand draped lazily up over her head while the other rested on her belly, ready to rub and soothe the equally uncomfortable occupant within. 

His heart twisted in his chest as he closed the door behind him and moved to the bed moving as quietly as he could. He had never seen her so heavy with child before. She’d never gotten this far with Faith and he hadn’t been there to see her so with Brianna. She was lying so still, only the faintest rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Tears rose in his eyes as he fought against the unexpected ripple of panic in his gut––she was fine, just tired, he told himself. He looked down again at the hand resting on her belly. Her navel had started to poke out from the hard roundness where he liked to rest his hands as they slept, holding her and feeling the child’s occasional movements through the night. Peering closely, what he first took for shadows on the blanket cast by the low fire were actually constrained limbs and a head stretching against the walls of Claire’s womb. 

“Did I miss dinner?” Claire asked quietly, her eyes staying closed as her nimble fingers massaged the tight skin where the elbow had just poked. 

“Ye did,” he answered keeping his own voice low. “I can have Mrs. Crook fix ye a tray if ye like and bring it up for ye. The mutton in the stew was delicious.”

Claire’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t want to think about eating anything hot right now. I feel like a broiling roast.”

Jamie sat at the edge of the bed and removed his boots. “What do ye feel like eating right now?”

“Ice cream,” Claire sighed. “Or those frozen fruit treats they used to have in the cafeteria at the hospital when it was miserably hot and muggy outside like this.”

“Muggy?” He pulled off his stockings and lifted himself from the mattress only enough to slide his breeks down. They were damp with sweat and clung uncomfortably to his thighs. 

“Humid… I really shouldn’t be complaining about this because it’s nowhere near as bad as a heatwave in Boston with the pavement heating up enough to fry an egg,” Claire explained in a dreamy tone. “But everything feels more…  _ more _ when you’re pregnant. I’d forgotten how uncomfortable I was that summer I carried Bree.”

“I thought ye said ye had  _ modern conveniences _ in yer time,” he teased. “If ye were able to have hot baths whenever ye wanted, could ye no make everything cooler when ye wanted that instead?”

Claire smiled at the memory. “There was one heat wave near the end of August… I couldn’t bear to move at all. I sat in a chair and had an electric fan on the table in front of me. The electric bill that month nearly gave Frank a coronary.” 

“Are ye so uncomfortable now?” Jamie asked midway through shrugging out of his shirt. “If ye think ye’ll be too warm wi’ me lyin’ beside ye for ye to sleep…”

“Nonsense,” she insisted, tossing the sheet down in invitation and scooting over to make room. “I’ve been sleeping most of the afternoon.”

He slipped under the sheet and turned to her as she rolled onto her side to face him, her stomach pressing into his. The hairs trailing down his chest to his navel stood on end, waiting for the slightest hints of movement. 

“Ye slept well then?”

A furrow formed between Claire’s eyes and she looked down, away from him. 

“I dozed at first. And then I knew I was dreaming and usually when that happens I wake up… but I didn’t this time.”

“Was it an unsettling dream?” 

She looked up at him again. “Not necessarily… It was… amusing. Murtagh was arguing with Uncle Lamb.”

Jamie’s eyebrows jumped and a snort caught in the back of his throat. “What would the two of them have to argue over?”

“They were discussing what we should name the baby,” Claire said, her face flushing either from the heat or self-consciousness. Neither had brought up names yet, both unwilling to admit but perhaps a little convinced that to do so would risk inviting disaster. “Uncle Lamb made the very valid point that Brianna is named after both your parents while my family aren’t represented at all.” Jamie could hear the effort she put into keeping her tone light. “He suggested that either of his names would work or there was my father’s name to consider. Murtagh scoffed at those and offered a few ideas––Alexander, Robert, Hugh…”

“Those are all names for a lad,” Jamie noted. “Did neither of them have ideas for what we might name another lass?”

Claire smiled. “No, on that point they did appear to agree.”

“Are ye tellin’ me ye’re of a mind they’re right?”

“It was just a dream,” Claire shrugged. “It might not mean anything. But it was amusing. Both of them… They would have been excited about it, either way.”

Jamie nodded, his heart squeezing again, this time with the familiar twinge of sorrow for those long gone––not just Murtagh, but his father and mother as well. He was older than his father had been when his mother had died and Claire... He’d lost her once before; had prayed to his parents and Murtagh alongside the saints for innumerable times for strength over the years and whatever strength they sent had been enough to carry him through... barely. He felt a fluttering of movement against his belly from where it pressed against Claire’s. So many prayers answered and so many as yet unprayed, he knew, lay in his future.  _ Lord, that they may be safe; she and the child.  _

Claire’s leg slipped between Jamie’s and he was suddenly very aware of her hand on him, lightly stroking between his legs. Panic and arousal jolted through him. 

“I thought ye said the heat made ye uncomfortable,” he teased half-heartedly and pulled back a little so he could look her in the face, his eyebrows high with his surprise. 

Claire grinned and didn’t stop. “If I’m going to be hot and sweaty anyway…” She bent her head and began to nuzzle his neck while her hand continued to drive him mad. 

He cleared his throat and mumbled, “I dinna think it would be wise, Claire.”

She stopped abruptly and propped herself up on her elbow, tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead as the bedclothes dropped leaving her swollen breasts exposed while the curve of her belly caught the blanket and kept the rest of her loosely covered. God but he wanted to lay his head on her chest, his ear to her heart; to trace the circumference of her areolae––preferably with his tongue––and watch her nipples stiffen.

“What do you mean you don’t think it’s wise? I’ve told you before that it’s perfectly safe––”

“Aye, that’s what ye said in Paris and look what happened,” he interrupted with more force than he meant. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the canopy. “I look at ye now and I’m terrified, Claire. There isna much I can do now ye’re so far along but if there’s even a chance… I’m no inclined to take it.”

“But it’s not because you don’t  _ want _ to…” she clarified. 

He rolled his eyes at her and glanced down his body to where the bedclothes left the answer to that rather obvious. 

“Honestly, Jamie,” Claire pressed, sliding closer to him and trailing her toes up and down his shin in a manner intended to be seductive and playful. “It won’t hurt us. I haven’t had nearly the same kinds of difficulties I did with either Faith or Bree. I’ve been spending far more time resting and––”

“Ye think ye can just reason my fears away?” he scoffed, moving his legs so she would stop tickling him with her toes. “Ye think I havena tried? Every time I do I find myself with  _ more _ things to fear than I started, not less. I’m terrified I’ll lose ye and be left to raise the bairn without ye or worse that I’ll lose both of ye and will have to find some way to get word to Bree that I couldna keep the promise I made her that ye’d be all right… I terrified that even if ye do survive this time that next time ye won’t.”

“Next time?” Claire blinked. 

“Neither of us thought ye’d get wi’ child this time nor that it would happen so soon. What’s to stop it happening again?” he argued. 

“Please let’s get through this pregnancy before you start worrying about another one,” Claire countered with both her exasperation and determination growing. 

“I told ye, I canna help it. I promised I’d no push ye to go back where it was safer for ye but I never promised I’d no worry over ye.” 

That brought Claire up short. She sat up properly and the blanket fell again this time leaving her bare belly exposed. Jamie reached out with his finger and traced the pale lines that streaked across the tight skin like bolts of lightning. The skin was so taut, it shone and looked almost painful. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I know you can’t help it. And I don’t want you to feel…” she sighed and looked down to where his finger continued across her belly. She wasn’t sure he could feel it with only his fingertip as a point of contact but the child inside was slowly rotating; no sharp jabs of elbows or knees just a gentle floating. “I’m scared too,” she told him quietly. “But… I think I’m more scared of losing this time together… of letting fear get in the way of… of us––of this. I’ve spent too much time missing you. I don’t want to miss you when you’re lying next to me.”

Jamie looked up from the stretched lines under his finger and met her eyes. The need in them matched his own but so did the fear, the uncertainty, and––he hoped––the stubbornness. He pressed his palm flat to her belly while keeping his eyes on hers. 

“I ken what ye mean,” he responded quietly and raised himself up to meet her kiss halfway. 

It was soft and sweet, undemanding but it still sent a noticeable shock through him and quieted the fears that had been roiling in his stomach, replacing them with a familiar heat and longing. This as much as anything was what he feared; that he couldn’t master his need for her even if and when it might put her in danger, that having lived without her for so long he might be just a little too selfish now he had her back. Tasting her on his lips, he could no longer conjure the doubt that had gripped him so tightly just minutes earlier. There was nothing wrong in wanting her so badly and even the rest of his fears were drowned out by the pounding of his heart, the tenor of her moans. 

Nothing about this was wrong.

“You know something else…” Claire whispered breathlessly as she awkwardly scrambled to her knees. “We might not get another chance like this… We’ll have to wait weeks… after the baby comes… and even then… we’ll have him to deal with in the night… or  _ her _ … But now… no interruptions… no exhaustion…”

“ _ No _ exhaustion?” he questioned with a smile. She had thrown her leg over him and the warm, humid weight of her was pressing down on him, the soft roundness of her arse leaning against the solid muscles of his thighs. The curve of her belly, where her skin stretched so tight it shone, brushed against his stomach when she leaned forward. He wondered if the trail of hair thickening as it got further away from his navel and closer to his crotch tickled her. 

“Well…  _ less _ exhaustion,” she confessed, rocking against him. 

His balls began to ache. 

“Do ye need me to…” he asked, letting his hand drift across her thigh––the fine hairs standing on end in its wake––inching to slip into that sliver of space between them to finally close that space completely. 

Claire smirked and shook her head, batting his hand away. “I can do it,” she insisted. 

It was awkward to watch the way she struggled to balance on her knees while she reached down around her belly and between her legs in search of his cock but once her hand wrapped around it, Jamie’s head fell back and his breath caught in his teeth. As if to underscore her point, she used her firm grip on him to slide the sensitive and swollen tip of him back and forth along herself, using him to open herself to him but not yet letting him inside. She was ready for him and the inviting warmth of her… He tried to jerk and thrust his hips upward and into her but her weight had him pinned and at her mercy. 

She gasped when she finally took him into her. He groaned as she engulfed him, felt the pulse as her body gripped him tight and then relaxed, just enough to move against him. She leaned forward, reaching for his shoulders to but her stomach prevented them from getting too close. It rubbed and chafed with the slow swaying of their joining. 

Jamie couldn’t tell whether the fluttering in his belly was from the child in hers pressed against him or the quivering need for more friction gathering in his. It wasn’t enough. She was moving too slow. He was unable to leverage himself to compensate. 

It wasn’t enough for him but Claire’s head dropped back, her hair slipping over her shoulders and leaving them bare but for the sheen of sweat along the line of her collarbone and in the hollow of her throat. A bead of perspiration crested the hollow and trickled down between her breasts. The way they gently heaved each time Claire rose and sank was mesmerizing; the brunt of their weight was borne by the curve of her belly. Each time Claire’s direction of movement shifted, a miniscule jarring ripple passed through the soft flesh. Jamie felt that same shift in his cock and pushing became pulling, as rubbing became sliding. God, it wasn’t enough.

“Get up,” he grunted and got his hands underneath him enough to push himself up until he was sitting. 

Claire was panting, looking at him confused, but then she understood and nodded. 

His cock twitched, objecting to being released by her body. He was on his knees behind her quickly as she braced herself against the headboard, spread her knees, and leaned back eagerly. It wasn’t until he’d thrust back into her hard and had heard her satisfied moan that he thought maybe he should have teased her the way she’d teased him earlier, maybe he should have drawn it out a little longer. But inside her once again, he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t tell if he was being as gentle as he intended and those noises she made––oh those squeals and sighs––only urged him on, harder and faster. 

Her knuckles were white on the headboard when, with a whimper, her muscles went rigid and she shook; Jamie’s did the same only a moment later. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his chest to her back while they trembled together. 

As the rush of pleasure began to recede and Jamie’s senses returned to him, so did a ghost of his earlier fears. He felt the damp dribbling of his seed seeping out from around where he and Claire remained joined and for a moment, he panicked that it might be something else.

Claire must have noticed something was wrong from the way he’d suddenly squeezed her. 

“Oh,” she panted then breathlessly chuckled, releasing the headboard to bring a hand up and run it along his arm where it crushed her breasts. “I didn’t think… that would happen… though I do remember… a patient once… asking about it… while I was training… in obstetrics.”

He jolted again. Was it usual for women to–– He realized there was a different dampness on his arm as he loosened his hold across her chest. Her breasts were leaking. He forced a laugh as Claire leaned against the headboard again, her laughter building as she caught her breath. 

Jamie raised his arm to his mouth and licked the small spots of moisture––sweet on the surface with his own saltiness just underneath. 

“Lie back and I’ll clean ye up,” he offered slipping free of her and the bed. 

He crossed to the basin and wet a nearby cloth. Claire sprawled atop the bedclothes still flushed and satiated. She smiled as Jamie bent first to run his tongue playfully over her nipples in a preliminary cleaning. Her breathy laugh cooled the sweat on his forehead then she winced as he applied the cloth. 

“Colder than I expected,” she explained then bit her lip at the light massaging pressure he applied to wipe her clean. Once her breasts were done, he trailed the end of the cloth down over her belly and she opened her legs for him. She shivered as the cool cloth met sensitive tissue but Jamie was focused on one thing. He pulled the cloth away, his head blocked by the swell of her belly, and looked peeked at it. 

No blood. Relief flooded through him like a second release. He was almost ready to laugh at himself over the whole incident but he knew that feeling wouldn’t last. He would keep that fear hidden from Claire so as not to worry her but it had latched onto him like a shadow that would follow him until the danger had completely passed in a few weeks’ time. 

He put the cloth away and slipped back into bed with Claire, drawing that single light blanket up over the both of them and wrapping his arm around her so his palm pressed to her belly. 

“Mmmm,” Claire sighed. “I think the baby’s gone to sleep now.” She put her hand over Jamie’s. “Maybe I’ll get a few hours in myself before he gets too cramped and decides to move again and wake me up.” 

Jamie kissed the sweat damp curls behind Claire’s ear and nestled his head on the pillow with his nose buried in the rest of the curly mass, breathing in the scent of her until it lulled him to sleep.


	31. Through It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire welcome their new bairn.

As summer bled into autumn, the heat faded slowly. Claire’s discomfort remained a near constant as the size of her belly expanded along with her frustration and guilt. She knew she should be on bed rest given her age and medical history but boredom triumphed often.

She waited until Jamie and the other men of the house had drifted off to the fields to monitor the crops and prepare for the imminent harvest. As soon as they were gone she would slip into her loosest gown and make her way downstairs to the hall or the kitchen where Jenny usually ordered her to sit and rest for a few minutes, then some light and menial task would be put into her hands to keep them busy and give her an excuse to stay. The chair that was brought into the kitchen for her was hard and often left her back and hips aching but she made a point of being back upstairs in bed when Jamie returned to the house near dusk.

Claire was sure to tell Jamie the truth about going downstairs but she let him think it was just a brief trip to stretch her legs each day. He likely suspected the whole truth––if Jenny didn’t tell him outright––but the sight of her with the bedclothes tucked up over her belly when he left and when he returned was enough to help keep his worries under control. He would pull a chair next to her side of the bed then turn back the covers and pull her feet into his lap for a firm rubbing. Crawling into bed beside her a short while later, she would turn away from him so he could perform a similar service on her back, starting low behind her kidneys where the strain was worst and gradually moving up the column of her spine to the knots in her neck.

In the night she fidgeted to get comfortable and inadvertently woke Jamie.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, rolling onto her side. “My back…”

He shushed her and dug his fingers into the tight flesh near her hips, rubbing circles into it until she sighed and relaxed.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes drifting shut once more.

“As ye need, Sassenach,” he yawned back then kissed her shoulder and rolled onto his back and into sleep in the same motion.

Twice more during the night Claire’s back woke her and Jamie’s fingers soothed the ache.

As the light in the room grew with the approaching dawn, the pain in Claire’s back pulled her suddenly from sleep once more but this time it also drew her breath through her teeth in a sharp hiss. It wasn’t just her lower back that hurt and it wasn’t the dull muscle ache either; the pain was sharper and extended around and through her middle. It rolled in a wave down through her hips and into her thighs, everything in her lower half drawing towards the same painful point.

And then its grip on her loosened and she was able to breath again.

“Are ye all right, Claire?” Jamie asked, propping himself up on his forearm and reaching to reassure himself by resting his hand on her arm.

“Mmmm,” Claire hummed as she pressed her lips together.

“D’ye need somethin’?”

She nodded. “Not just yet but when you hear Jenny and Ian up and about, I’ll need you to send Jenny in to see me… Then someone will have to send for the midwife.”

Jamie sat up suddenly and completely alert. “The midwife? Ye mean… If ye’re needin’ the midwife, I’m no waitin,’” he said already pushing back the bedclothes.

Claire reached out and grabbed hold of his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want you waking them sooner than you need to,” she told him. “It’s going to be a while yet. There’s also a chance it’s just false labor and it’ll go away.” But she knew it wasn’t a mistake or Braxton Hicks. The pains in her back had been precursory contractions but she needed a little while longer to figure out just how far apart they were. She needed to rest between them while she could, build her strength for what lay ahead.

“Claire…” Jamie’s voice was tinged with fear, his hand shaking in her own. She gave it a squeeze.

“Fine. Wake them if it will make you feel better and send Fergus or Rabbie for the midwife,” Claire smiled. “But make sure they know it’ll be a long wait.” She released his hand and rolled to his side of the bed letting herself spread out and consciously relaxing each set of muscles in her body, taking stock and evaluating.

She managed to doze waking only when Jenny bustled into the room still in her shift, her dark braid hanging over her shoulder and trailing almost to her waist.

“I dinna mean to wake ye,” Jenny apologized, “but it’ll set Jamie’s mind at ease to ken how ye’re farin’ from the start.”

“I can’t be too far,” Claire groaned, sitting up and flushing as Jenny pulled the bedclothes back and, without ceremony, rucked up the hem of Claire’s shift and eased her thighs open for a quick examination.

“Not yet,” Jenny concluded quickly, pulling Claire’s shift down to modestly cover her once more. Then she placed her hands on Claire’s belly, feeling the position of the child inside. “I dinna see anything amiss and I’ll tell Jamie so though I doubt it’ll do much but buy me the time I need to finish dressing. Rest if ye can. It’s goin’ to be a long day.”

Jamie appeared in the doorway before Jenny could slip back out.

“Fergus is readyin’ a horse to go,” he explained.

“Good,” Jenny said, setting her hands on her hips. “Now, Claire, you rest if ye can and Jamie get dressed and sit wi’ her while I dress and help Mrs. Crook wi’ breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit to see how ye fare.”

Jamie sat on the bed beside Claire, his shirttails fluttering about his thighs as he dropped. “How do ye feel?” he asked reaching out to take Claire’s hand.

She smiled up at him, her eyelids drooping. “Tired. A few more hours sleep would’ve been nice. But there’s no going back now.”

Jamie swallowed hard and his grip on her hand tightened. “I’m no goin’ to leave yer side,” he insisted. “Whatever happens… I’ll be wi’ ye this time.”

Claire opened her mouth to object, to reassure him, but saw the fear in his eyes and instead nodded. “Through it all.”

An hour later, Jenny came back to check on Claire and bring Jamie some breakfast. Claire was out of bed and leaning against the wall while Jamie rubbed her back.

“How many since I was here last?” Jenny asked.

“This is only the second since then,” Jamie informed her.

“And they’re still not too bad,” Claire said with her eyes closed in concentration.

“Well, when this one’s passed and Jamie’s eaten, I’ll need ye to take a walk down the hall so I can ready the room a bit. I’ve brought a bit of broth for you too, Claire, if ye want it––keep up yer strength.”

Claire nodded and then let her breath out in a long sigh of relief. She clutched Jamie’s hand as she straightened up.

Every step Claire took around the room and down the hall, Jamie was there for her to lean on if she needed him. When the pains struck, she braced herself against him and he whispered to her, anything and everything he could think of––the way he’d felt sitting next to her in the hall at Leoch when they’d listened to the bard, whispering in her ear; how beautiful she’d been when he’d seen her walking towards him on their wedding day and the way she’d made his heart stop several times during their wedding night; the sheer joy he’d felt when he’d crashed to the ground with her atop him in the cottage near Craigh na Dun, when he realized she’d chosen to stay with him; and most importantly, how he’d felt when he saw her again for the first time in fifteen years and she told him he’d get to meet his daughter.

“I cannae tell whether it was like wakin’ up or fallin’ into one of my dreams,” he murmured in her ear as she breathed heavily through clenched teeth and sweat trickled from her temples.

He was behind her helping to bear her weight as she stood with her feet planted firmly apart and bent at the knees. Her waters had broken shortly after midday and the midwife and Jenny stood ready while Claire walked until a contraction struck and then pushed through it and walked a little more. Neither Jenny or the midwife said anything about Jamie’s presence. He didn’t interfere with them and he and Claire kept each other calm; the two other women drifted in and out of the room as Jamie and Claire spent so much of the time focused on each other. Jamie was able to keep his fear from seeping into his features but whenever Claire looked at him she could see it lurking behind his eyes and fought to subdue her own cries and groans, anything to keep that fear from deepening.

“Even holdin’ ye in my arms again and kissin’ ye, I didna ken were ye real or no,” he continued. “It wasna until I saw Bree standin’ there that I kent it was really happening, that ye were really here again. Did I have all two hundred years to imagine her, I couldna have got the look and feel of her right.”

Despite both their fears, everything was proceeding smoothly though the labor was long. Claire’s strength was draining as she proceeded beyond the half hour mark for pushing. When the midwife checked Claire’s progress she smiled her encouragement that it wouldn’t be much longer; the child was nearly crowning.

“The way she holds her head like you, no lookin’ down uncertain but high and sure,” Jamie continued in Claire’s ear, “the smell of her hair ticklin’ my nose as I held her in my arms that first time; the way she sounded that first time she called me ‘Da.’ She may no have been a wee bairn and it may no have been the first she’d actually done anything, but each time I saw her doin’ or heard her sayin’ something was the first time for me and I’d no expected to see or hear any of it with her… And now… now ye’re givin’ me the other as well.” There was awe in his voice.

Claire cried out as she bent forward, her weight shaking in Jamie’s grip as her hands squeezed hard enough for the bones of his fingers to grind painfully against each other. Jenny was there with a clean blanket tucked over her arm, lifting Claire’s shift out of the way while the midwife reached between Claire’s thighs to feel for the baby’s head and help guide out the troublesome shoulders.

“Just a wee bit more, Claire,” Jenny said as she watched the midwife’s hands shift deftly to catch the small and slippery body. “There ye are––bear down…”

Claire gasped and the muscles in her legs suddenly gave out as that new pink body slid from her own. Jamie caught her and kept her from falling to her knees. Bits of straw and blood clung to the midwife’s skirts as she reached for the blanket on Jenny’s arm to loosely wrap the child before tying off and cutting the cord.

“It’s a wee lad!” Jenny exclaimed with prideful tears in her eyes. She gave Claire’s thigh a squeeze and offered a dazed Jamie a broad smile.

Jamie was looking at the smeared blood on Claire’s thighs and the few spots that soaked into the fabric of her shift. He blinked as he looked desperately to Jenny. The midwife had the baby lying on the floor and wiped at his face until he began to cry, his thin limbs curled and trembling with the effort and the shock of being in the open air. Three quick moves and she had him wrapped in his blanket and passed him to Jenny while she turned back to Claire to deliver the afterbirth.

The cries of their son drew Jamie’s attention even as he continued to hold Claire steady, his chest bracing her back.

“Is he all right?” Claire panted as the midwife began to cleanse Claire’s thighs with a cloth Jenny had sterilized in a pot of boiled water and soothing herbs. She motioned for Jamie to help Claire straighten so her shift could be changed and she could be comfortably put to bed for a well-deserved rest.

Jenny nodded and carried the baby over to Jamie who still hadn’t said a word but who watched her with wide eyes.

“He’s a strong lad,” Jenny remarked as she adjusted his swaddling, tightening it around him so he calmed. “Are ye ready to hold yer son?” she asked Jamie quietly with the broad smile on her face apparently permanently etched there. She gently placed the trembling bundle in Jamie’s arms.

“My son?” he asked, the fact still refusing to sink in even as looked down at the scrunched red face, eyes pressed tightly shut. There wasn’t much hair on his head but a faint darkness suggested he would bear Claire’s coloring, possibly her curls as well.

He was so light in Jamie’s arms. As soon as Jamie spread one of his hands across the baby’s back, his finger and thumb gently cradling the tiny head, the baby stilled and one eyelid peeked open though it couldn’t focus on anything or anyone. It was as though he recognized that touch and sought to identify its source anew. Jamie could only gape in awe at the unimpressed infant.

“Had the two of ye chosen a name for a lad?” Jenny asked. The midwife continued puttering about as she cleaned up, letting Jenny enjoy the moment along with Jamie and Claire.

Jamie looked to Claire who was pale against the pillows of the bed but the earlier strain had started to seep from her face, exhaustion taking its place. She could only manage a weak smile but she nodded to Jamie.

“William,” he whispered to Jenny.

“I hoped ye’d name him that.” Jenny stood closer to Jamie resting a soothing hand on the arch of his spine where he hunched forward protectively over the swaddled bundle. “I wouldna use it for my lads so ye’d have it for _yer_ son, whenever he came… And I’m glad ye found a way to make use of ‘Brian’ as well wi’ Bree.”

“Aye,” was all Jamie managed to murmur as he remained transfixed by wee William.

Jenny threw a look to Claire whose eyes opened momentarily to watch Jamie, her gaze sliding to Jenny next to him. It was something both women had wanted so badly for Jamie, to see him meet his newborn child, a child he would have a hand in raising from the first. It was something both women had wanted for him and it was proving to be more incredible to witness than they’d imagined.

“I’ll go bring the news to ever’one waiting downstairs,” Jenny explained quietly, giving Jamie a final pat to the back before slipping out of the room after the midwife who was carrying the soiled cloths and other detritus from the birth.

“We may have agreed on a first name for him,” Claire said with a sigh from the bed, “but I think there’s room for a few more in there before ‘Fraser.’ I was thinking ‘James’ for his father.”

Jamie looked up at her suddenly, flushing to the tips of his ears as what she was saying sank in.

“If ye’d like,” he responded walking slowly towards the bed, swaying gently from side to side as he did. “I’d like to remember Murtagh in there too, if ye dinna mind.”

Claire’s eyes closed as she nodded, miniscule specks of moisture clinging to the roots of her lashes. “I think that’s precisely where he belongs. William… James… Murtagh… Fraser,” she intoned.

Jamie settled himself gently on the bed beside her so she could see the baby too.

“William James Murtagh _Beauchamp_ Fraser,” he emphasized. “If I get to be in there wi’ ‘James,’ you ought to be in there too, Sassenach.”

Claire reached a finger out and stroked the swell of William’s cheek. She could feel the line of bone beneath the surface. Jamie’s cheekbones. But his eyes didn’t slant as strongly as Bree’s or even Faith’s had.

Jamie shifted to carefully lay the sleeping child on Claire’s chest. She brushed a light kiss across the crown of his soft head, felt William’s pulse beneath her lips.

Jamie’s hand briefly cupped the curve of William’s head then his fingers trailed down the line of back then buttocks, raised by the way William’s legs were curled under him.

It was a strangled noise Jamie made then. There was a pause as his eyes met Claire’s over the baby’s head and then Jamie couldn’t see anymore for the tears in his eyes, the sobs wracking his frame. Claire reached a hand to his cheek, her other going instinctively to William’s back to hold him steady.

Slowly, Claire pulled Jamie down so that his forehead rested on her shoulder and her fingers could gently stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. He didn’t speak, only cried, the sobs growing quieter with each pass of Claire’s fingers; the tension of fear and strain of waiting gradually working their way out of his body with each soothing word she murmured to him.

They were safe. They were healthy. All had gone well and he could finally relax.

Tears pricked at Claire’s eyes as she missed Brianna. They would let her know about her little brother. She would make sure her children knew one another through the stories she remembered and shared with each.


	32. Nighttime Feeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire settle in to caring for newborn William.

William’s squirming and whimpering roused Jamie. The fire in the hearth had died out so the only light in the room came from the large moon and cloudless night sky.

Jamie rubbed his hand lightly across the baby’s thin back to warm him but the friction only seemed to make William more aware of his distress. The squirming and whimpering became more incessant and Jamie reached his hand out to find Claire beside him in bed.

“Sassenach,” he whispered, shaking her arm. She lay on her side with her back to him, the position she’d found most comfortable in the twenty-four hours since giving birth (when Jenny had brought Claire a tray for breakfast, Claire had done her best to prop herself up in bed before asking Jenny how she’d ever had the will to get on a horse so soon after Maggie’s birth all those years ago).

Claire groaned in the bed now and pulled the blankets higher, up over her shoulder so that they half covered her head.

“Wee Willie here needs to nurse,” he explained, nudging her again.

“Wee Willie Winkie,” Claire murmured sleepily.

“What? Why’re ye callin’ him that?” Jamie asked confused and yawning.

“I don’t remember,” she answered with an exhausted sigh as she rolled toward him and started to ease herself up with the help of her pillows. “I’m too tired to remember why but I know it’s relevant.” She loosened the tie at the top of her shift and then waited for Jamie to hand her the baby. “There you are, lad,” she crooned when he’d successfully latched and the fussing gave way to an urgent sucking. “No need to rush.” She ran her fingers down the curve of his head and his urgency faded to a more manageable rhythmic tug. “It’s not going anywhere but into your belly, I promise.”

“Was it like this for ye wi’ Bree?” Jamie’s question was so quiet William’s sucking and swallowing nearly drowned it out.

He couldn’t see Claire well in the darkness of the room, but he didn’t need to see her to know the expression she wore. He could feel it in her sudden stillness, in the quiet pause before she answered.

“Yes and no,” she murmured. “She… well, she was born in hospital so it wasn’t as quiet as this those nights before we went home. And… _I_ wasn’t the same then… and I think she might’ve realized––that she could sense––that I wasn’t… She fussed a lot and wouldn’t sleep unless she was being held––at least for the first month or so.” The pain was unmistakable in her voice but whether it was old pain remembered or the more recent pain over the absent Brianna, Jamie couldn’t tell and shied away from contemplating too closely.

“This one here’s no been put down by either of us long enough to tell properly whether he’ll be the same,” Jamie pointed out then reached through the dark until he found William’s bare foot. The toes curled against his thumb as he traced the tiny ankle joint. Laying the pad of his thumb against William’s sole, the length of infant foot was longer but not by much. “He’s time yet for his Fraser temper to make an appearance.”

“Wee Willie Winkie,” Claire said again, this time with the force of recognition.

“Is tha’ what ye’re plannin’ to call him from now?” Jamie clearly didn’t care for their son’s possible nickname.

“No, it’s a nursery rhyme––or will be,” Claire amended. “I used to read it to Brianna when she was a toddler. _Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town / Up stairs, down stairs, in his night gown_ … I don’t remember much more than the start… but let’s hope this little lad doesn’t take after the other. I don’t remember the words exactly but I _do_ remember it was about a little boy who wouldn’t go to sleep.”

“A nursery rhyme…” Jamie mused.

“Lullabies and poems for children, mostly. Some were turned into songs… I doubt many of them have been written yet, actually,” Claire frowned.

“Will ye no be wantin’ to tell them to the bairn then?”

“I don’t know. It’s not something we have to worry about for a while yet, I suppose. He’s too young to remember them.”

“Either way, I wouldna be callin’ him wee Willie Winkie. There’s some as used to call the old King William by that name and some as still do. It’s no a respectable thing to be callin’ a born Scot,” Jamie informed her.

“Is _that_ where the name comes from? Ow!”

“What is it?” Jamie asked sitting up quickly.

“It’s nothing… Just… Someone has a strong bite,” she winced. It was awkward fumbling in the dark but she switched William to the other breast.

“And what about that,” Jamie said with a nod towards the nursing babe that Claire couldn’t see. “How does havin’ the bairn suckling ye compare to when we’re… and _I_ …” he asked with a playfulness and sincerity that made him sound twenty years younger.

Claire chuckled. “You’re gentler but then, you aim to tease,” she responded with a playfulness of her own.

“Ye’ll let me know if ye want me to give ye a proper demonstration for comparison, aye?” Jamie offered.

They laughed quietly together, William whimpering at the movement that was making it difficult for him to enjoy his meal. Claire rocked gently back and forth until he calmed and the pull of his sucking trailed off; with a final sigh, he fell back asleep.

“I’ll take him,” Jamie whispered reaching to find Claire’s arms in the dark.

“Careful now. Don’t jostle him too much or he’s liable to spit up on you,” she warned, relinquishing the small bundle and sinking back into the pillows with a yawn.

“I ken what to do,” he insisted. He settled back against his own pillows and brought William up to rest against his chest again. The baby started, his limbs jerking stiffly but he didn’t seem to wake as he quickly went limp again, molding himself to the shape of Jamie.

A moment later it became clear that the start had given William the hiccups.

“Poor thing,” Claire murmured, rolling over and reaching a hand up to lay against William’s back. She felt the spasm under her palm. “Nothing to be done but wait them out. We’ll have to see if he gets them often. They can be a sign of reflux.” She yawned again and rested her cheek on Jamie’s shoulder.

“So long as they dinna wake him or cause him to fuss,” Jamie remarked rubbing steadying circles into William’s back. “Did Bree get them too?”

But Claire didn’t hear the question having already slipped back into sleep herself.

Jamie could feel and hear the two of them breathing, their timing in opposition to one another with mother inhaling as son exhaled and then switching places. Jamie focused and felt his own breathing adjust to match William’s, the rising and sinking of his tiny body metronomic in the night save for the slight shudder every time he hiccuped.

Jamie smiled, then sighed. How many nights had he spent in that cave, in his cell at Ardsmuir, in the loft at Helwater, dreaming of this very thing––lying next to Claire with their child alive and healthy in bed with them?

But it had been a different child he had imagined on those nights. It was strange. He had assumed for most of those fifteen years that the child Claire carried had been a boy but even now with William asleep on his chest, he knew resolutely that the child in those dreams had been Brianna; the feeling he’d gotten in his chest during those half-formed imaginings was the same feeling he’d got the first time he held her in his arms on the road to Lallybroch. It was similar to the tightness and warmth that rose in him as William’s hiccups finally vanished and the baby twitched as if by reflex… but it was still distinctly different as though the two feelings resided side-by-side.

And there was another there with them. Faith. The missing piece of his heart that would never return to him. Though it was unlikely the piece Brianna kept with her would ever return to him either.

Perhaps that was the piece of a man that took root in a woman’s womb––a piece of his heart––along with a piece of the woman’s heart. The pieces man and woman offer each other as they lay together truly taking on a life of their own.

He would gladly give his whole heart to Claire, piece by piece; he trusted her with each and every one. The only thing he feared was losing her. He could withstand the ache of the missing pieces given to his children, but he couldn’t survive if Claire took the rest away with her a second time. He was convinced he had only survived the first time because she lived and kept those pieces of his heart safe for him.

Claire’s sudden snore broke into his drifting thoughts and Jamie bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud and waking them both.

Brianna was safe in the future with all those medicines Claire talked about and with someone to take care of her. Claire and William were safe with him. Illness was a danger, especially to William, but Claire was the most capable fighter on that front that he knew.

It was enough. Their family was enough. It would have been enough even before William, but now he couldn’t imagine it without him, their unexpected and unsought miracle.

There was a twinge in Jamie’s gut, an echo of the fear that had gripped him through so much of Claire’s pregnancy––a fear that had him consider sending her back through the stones with Brianna.

It took them months to conceive Faith and then nearly two years for Brianna. But Claire was carrying William mere weeks after their reunion, and that despite being of an age when most women had ceased to bear children.

What if it should happen that way again?

Claire had been careful through carrying William, but she nearly died with Faith and said she’d had a hard time of it with Brianna too.

They had to find a way to be sure she wouldn’t get with child again, that William would be their last.

Jamie felt a small patch of damp where William’s cheek pressed against his shirt. He leaned forward to sniff at it but it wasn’t sour and the hiccups had stopped a while earlier; he was pretty sure the damp was just a bit of drool.

“I dinna ken does having William and sharing this with ye now make having missed it with you and Bree easier or harder, Sassenach,” he confessed in a whisper to Claire’s sleeping curls. “I’ll never be able to thank ye enough for givin’ me a son and for stayin’ to raise him here with me when I thought ye ought to go… It’s a chance I’ve wanted since the day I met ye––to raise a family with ye… But now… now I ken better exactly what I missed wi’ Bree. It’s no… guessing and ideas. It’s this moment and the next and seeing you wi’ him and havin’ him to myself from time to time… seeing every day how he changes and grows…” He sighed. He should wait and tell this to Claire when she was awake to hear him, ashamed as some of it made him feel. Claire would understand. It was nearly a year later and he was still getting used to how it felt to have that understanding back in his life.

Warmth spread through his chest mingling uncomfortably with the patch of William’s drool.

“Christ!” he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly so that Claire’s head fell from his shoulder, jolting her awake.

“What?! What is it?” she mumbled.

The movement and noise also startled William who woke and, discovering his condition, began to wail.

“He needs a fresh clout and I need a fresh shirt,” Jamie explained. “His bladder held more’n his clout could manage.”


	33. Memories and Echoes and Dressing the Millstones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire can't help thinking about Brianna during William's first week but Janet interrupts with a welcome distraction.

Claire sat at the worktable with the ledger of her thoughts for Brianna open before her but her attention was fixed on William asleep in his basket on the chair beside her. 

His hands were curled into fists resting lightly on top of the knitted blanket spread over his lap and tucked up under his arms. His head lolled to the side so that it appeared to be resting on his shoulder. The muscles in his brow furrowed momentarily then his cheek twitched with what looked like an attempt at a smile but which––combined with the way his body curled first forward then arching back––Claire was convinced was just gas. 

In the ten days since he’d been born, his face had already begun to fill out and the flesh on his arms and legs was thickening so that the delicate bones didn’t feel as fragile. The small pulse on his crown had a few wisps of dark hair trying to cover and protect it.

William lifted his head from his shoulder, rolling it and pressing his eyes tighter together as his hands twitched on the blanket. Claire reached out to rest her hand on his belly and give him a reassuring rub. He sighed and his head lolled to the other side.

It took a surprising effort to turn her attention back to the page that bore only the date at the top. Had she been so easily lost in watching Brianna when she was a baby? She snuck a peek at William again and noticed the way his bottom lip jutted forward with a slight pout. Yes, she remembered watching Brianna as she slept those first months. She had spent so much of that time searching for all the little details that marked Brianna as Jamie’s… and now she felt like she was searching for echoes of Brianna in William. 

_ William sleeps better than you ever did but you must know I never minded. No, I suppose that’s not really true, _ Claire finally scrawled on the page _. There were plenty of days and nights when I minded a great deal that you would suddenly wake crying and I had to interrupt what I was doing to soothe you. But there were also plenty of nights when my own dreams woke me and going in to check on you, to nurse you, to rock with you, soothed me.  _

_ You are very present in both mine and Jamie’s minds these days. Every tiny thing William does, your father immediately asks about whether or when you did the same and those precious memories of you that have lain dormant stir in my memory, eager to be shared and treasured. I try to share them all, even the ones that make me hesitate. The time you spit-up on Frank and it went all down the back of his work shirt. The time you sneezed in my face and when Frank laughed you smiled your first smile. The time I brought you to the university to show you off to Frank’s colleagues and since you were sleeping, I took you into the classroom to catch the end of his lecture, but you snored and it echoed loudly so that both he and his students were struggling not to laugh and wake you.  _

William whimpered and Claire set her quill aside, reaching to place her hand on the baby’s belly and reassure him of her presence once more. One of the fists found her finger and opened long enough to take a tight grip. The eyes blinked open leaving him frowning at the brightness in the room. 

She couldn’t help smiling broadly at him as he looked so disgruntled at having woken up despite his efforts to remain asleep and oblivious. He wasn’t fussing but that might only be a matter of time. 

Claire used her free hand to place a blotting paper between the ledger pages before closing it. She had already given up apologizing for the frequent incoherence her fits and spurts of scribbling for Brianna left in the writing overall. She did it as much for herself as for the hope that Brianna would someday read it. 

Turning to the blanket-padded basket, Claire lifted William out of it holding him under the arms and taking a few pointed sniffs––first of his clout to be sure he didn’t need to be changed; then, she rubbed her nose against his belly though his only reaction to her attempts to tickle him was to pull his legs towards his torso; and finally, of his head and hair as she settled him against her shoulder. 

She rubbed his back and began to hum, pressing her cheek to the side of his head. It was nonsensical at first but soon she slipped into a familiar melody. 

“Are there words to that?” Janet asked quietly from the doorway behind Claire, uncertain whether the baby was asleep or not. 

Claire turned slowly and smiled at her niece who slipped into the store room and began running her hands over Claire’s jars of supplies. The tune had words all right but they wouldn’t be written for nearly two hundred years and she didn’t want to worry about explaining what lemon drops were or the conditions necessary for melting them. 

“It’s just a little something he finds soothing,” she told Janet. Though Claire had seen the movie during the war, it wasn’t until she and Frank took Brianna to see it when she was seven  _ she _ had taken to singing the song to her dolls that Claire learned the lyrics––as well as Brianna’s interpretation of them. 

“It sounds pretty,” Janet declared.

“Is there something you’re looking for?”

“Da came to fetch more tools for Uncle Jamie and asked Mam to send food out to them before too long. Joanie stayed at home again and I thought we should go see that she’s well. I dinna like to think what it might mean that she’s takin’ so long to get over her cold,” Janet frowned. 

It had been a fortnight since young Jamie had first let them all know that his wife was feeling under the weather though he assured them it was just a cold and she simply needed rest. Janet, eager to step up in any way she could while Claire’s condition rendered her unable to tend Lallybroch’s tenants, had made a point of asking her older brother pointed questions on the state of Joanie’s illness each time she saw him.

William gurgled against Claire’s shoulder while she fought to suppress her amused smile.

“Let’s see your mother about the food. I think it’s about time I took William out for a bit and my legs could use a bit of stretching,” Claire announced. Most of the soreness had faded and she was tired but also knew the only way to build her strength back up was to get moving again. It wasn’t too far to the mill and the young Murray couple’s croft was along the way back.

“Do ye think it’s a wise idea to bring the bairn to see someone who’s ill?” Janet asked with an eyebrow quirked at the same skeptical angle favored by her mother. 

Claire set William down in his basket much to his chagrin. He fussed and waved his fists about while Claire reached for a length of cloth to fashion into a carrying sling.

“I think we’ll manage just fine,” Claire told Janet who, seeing what her aunt meant to do, hurried over to her side to help her drape and tie the fabric snuggly. “I have an idea about what might be bothering your sister in law and if I’m correct, it’s not something catching.”  _ And if it were, Joanie likely would have caught it from me _ , she thought to herself with a smile as she reached into the basket and lifted William out again. As soon as he was upright, his fussing tapered off. She kissed him briefly on each cheek to brush his tears away and then carefully settled him into the sling. Keeping a supportive hand along his head and neck, Claire motioned for Janet to lead the way.

They stopped in the kitchen to fetch the basket Jenny had ready. When Janet informed her mother of their plan to stop and see how Joanie fared on their way back, Jenny’s gaze shot to Claire who stood behind her niece pressing her lips together to keep her amusement contained. 

“I think it’s a fine idea,” Jenny stammered. “Hold a moment…” She turned to the sideboard to where she had a loaf of gingerbread set aside. “I was goin’ to bring this over to her later myself but as ye’re planning to stop by yerself, ye might save me the trip.” She wrapped the bread in a cloth and added it to the piled food in Janet’s basket. “Mind ye dinna let men eat it. They’ll finish it off in a single bite did they have the chance.” She wiped her hands on her apron and gave Claire and Janet a nod to be on their way. 

Janet moved slowly under the weight of the basket while Claire moved slowly still adjusting to the feel of her body now that William was separate from it. Both were sweating by the time they reached the mill where both Ians and both Jamies were busy dressing the grindstones. The younger Ian mostly watched and handed over the tools as they were needed. It was tiring work and some of it required greater control and precision. That work was given over to the younger Jamie whose youth and patience––inherited from his father––made him ideal for the fine but tedious work. His father and uncle were necessary for helping to maneuver the heavy stones and while Ian supervised, Jamie made sure the rest of the apparatus was in fine order. 

Claire and Janet heard the tapping of the chisel as they crossed the field. The noise disturbed William who began to cry. Claire stopped and took him out of the sling, swaying and bouncing him to calm him. The tapping stopped and the menfolk poured out of the mill wiping sweat from their brows and swarming Janet for their food. The young girl managed to successfully shoo them away from Joanie’s gingerbread. 

With one honey-smeared bannock stuffed in his mouth and another in his hand, Jamie came over to see his wife and son. After giving Claire a perfunctory kiss, he shoved the second bannock into his mouth, dusted off his hands, and took William from her, tucking him against his chest. Claire licked the honey from her lips where he’d left it behind. 

“How’re ye feeling then, lass?” Jamie asked eyeing where her face was red from exertion and her hair had begun to make its escape from its pins. 

“Invigorated or exhausted. I’m not entirely sure which at the moment,” she confessed. 

Young Jamie walked over to his aunt and uncle. He swallowed a bite of chicken he’d been chewing before greeting them. 

“Would ye mind giving me a go with the wee laddie?” he asked sheepishly. 

“Not at all,” Jamie said before gingerly handing William over to his older cousin. Claire chimed in with some pointers for supporting the baby’s head. 

“Hello there,” young Jamie addressed the infant. 

Claire met Jamie’s eyes and then both looked to Ian who was also grinning with a mix of pride and excitement. 

“I wanna see him,” young Ian exclaimed around the food in his mouth. Crumbs fell from his mouth as he stood peering up at his brother and the bairn. “He’ll be more fun when he starts doin’ things,” young Ian asserted with a nod, confident in his assessment. He turned back to the basket and took advantage of everyone’s distraction to take more than his fair share of the cheese. 

Janet was watching the adults passing the baby back and forth, her brow beginning to furrow.

“All right,” Claire said, reaching to take William back from her nephew. “If you lot have had your fill, we’ll be heading on to visit the ailing Mrs. Murray.”

“Ye are?” young Jamie asked, relief written on his face. “Thank ye, Auntie Claire. I ken talking with ye will put her mind at ease.”

Janet stared at her brother as she settled the loaf of bread in the empty basket. 

“Take care, Sassenach,” Jamie said, kissing her temple and then William’s head. “Stay and rest wi’ Joanie for a bit. This wee fellow ought to be due for a feeding soon, no?”

“Indeed. His appetite is rivaled only by yours.” She tucked William back into his sling. “For a moment there it seemed you gentlemen would consume the basket right along with the food.”

Jamie snorted but turned to follow the others back into the mill. Claire and Janet began the trek to Jamie and Joanie’s small cottage. 

Janet waited for the tapping of the chisel to start again before turning to Claire and asking, “What is it I’m missing?”


	34. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie finally tells Claire about his continuing fears regarding the possibility of further unexpected pregnancies.

William had been fussy through dinner so as soon as she’d finished, Claire had taken him upstairs. Jamie forced himself to sit through the rest of the talk of the progressing harvest and young Jamie and Joanie’s recent news only contributing when necessary. After dinner, he’d joined Ian in the study to go over the ledgers and plan the division of the proposed crop yields between current stores, winter stores, and next spring’s planting. It wasn’t more than a half-hour before Ian was urging Jamie to go and see that Claire and William were settled. 

“I’ll no wait for ye to be comin’ back,” Ian warned him with a grin. “It’s all well to have this planned but you and I both ken it’ll change six times between now and month’s end as we learn more what we have and see how the weather holds.”

Jamie nodded and scurried from the room thanking the lord that he encountered no one between the study and his closed bedroom door. 

He paused and listened for a moment. William wasn’t fussing which he took to be a good sign. In case the baby was asleep, he quietly eased the door open and poked his head around to investigate. 

William was lying in the middle of the bed snug between two pillows. He was sucking on his fingers and seemed to be assessing the bedclothes and canopy––though Claire had said he couldn’t see that far away yet. It was a moment before Jamie realized that William was bare but for his clout and that kicking his feet he’d loosened the folds of a carefully tucked blanket. 

Movement from across the room caught Jamie’s eye. Claire was standing in her shift before her dressing table and mirror. The basin sat with a cloth over the edge and Jamie spotted Claire’s bodice draped over a chair in front of the hearth along with William’s baby dress to dry. 

He watched her reach down and caress her abdomen, prodding it with her physician’s precision and care. Then she pulled the fabric of her shift taut and looked down to where her stomach was still bloated and sagging. The swelling was nowhere near as noticeable as it had been three weeks before but without her stays keeping everything in place… She frowned and then shrugged, her hands moving to assess and massage her swollen breasts instead. 

Seeing her touching herself, even in a nearly clinical manner, caused a surge of lust to flood Jamie’s bloodstream. It was time to make his presence known before things got uncomfortably out of hand. It would still be several weeks before they could be intimate in that way again and Jamie had something he wanted to discuss with Claire before they were––something he realized he’d been putting off addressing. 

The hinges creaked as he pushed the door open more and slipped into the room, closing it firmly behind him. 

Claire finally noticed him in the mirror and flushed briefly before reaching down and wringing out the cloth in the basin. 

“I can’t decide if William actually spits up more than Bree did or if it just feels that way because laundry is so much more difficult to manage when he does,” she remarked dabbing at the collar of her shift. “There isn’t much for me to change either of us into and even once I’ve rinsed things out as best I can and they’ve dried, the smell never quite leaves until a proper washing day.” She gave up rubbing and dropped the cloth into the basin. 

Jamie moved over to William on the bed leaning close and pulling the drool coated fist from the baby’s mouth. The delicate fingers wrapped around Jamie’s stiff ring finger, squeezing as Jamie’s thumb rubbed the baby’s knuckles doing little more than smear drool. William kicked his legs and stuck his tongue out at Jamie, gnawing that with his gums until he decided the fingers were more satisfying.

Bending his head, Jamie pressed his lips to William’s belly and blew what Claire called a raspberry. Her laughter bubbled up next to him. He raised his head enough to see the startled and affronted look in William’s eyes inspiring laughter of his own. He bend and blew a last one before taking the edges of the blanket and tucking them more firmly around William, covering his exposed tummy. 

Claire sat on the opposite side of the bed just above William’s head. She reached out and stroked his brow. The baby tried to turn to look at her, moving his whole head in an effort to find her. 

“Hush now,” she crooned rhythmically brushing his temple. His eyelids began to droop. Her tone remained calm and soothing as she continued, “That’s right. You’ve eaten and spat it up again. It’s exhausting––and not just for you. Now it’s time for bed.” 

“I love watching ye do that,” Jamie whispered after William’s breathing had deepened marking his passage into sleep as having been completed. Jamie reached down and gently lifted William up, Claire taking the baby’s blanket and following as Jamie carried their son to his cradle. 

“And I love watching  _ you _ do that,” she told him, tucking the blanket in around William. 

“I’m glad we’ve been given this chance, Claire,” Jamie began, taking a deep breath and steeling himself to push forward to the more difficult part. “Because––and I hope ye dinna think it too soon for me to be sayin’ so––but… I dinna think we should try for more bairns… though… we werena tryin’ for Willie here. What I mean to say is… Is there a way ye ken that we can keep ye from gettin’ with child again? Aside from the obvious,” he added, “though if that’s the only way… I ken we’d find a way to manage,” he insisted then waited to see how Claire would react.

She laughed. 

“I don’t for a minute believe we’d manage to avoid  _ that _ for very long,” she said sidling up to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. Claire pressed her breasts against him and chuckled as an obvious shiver of desire ran through his body. She chuckled and traced her hand down his chest and down the front of his breeks. 

“Claire,” Jamie scolded, backing away. “I’m bein’ serious.” 

She sighed and her face fell. “I know. I just… I feel like I should have put more thought into things before coming. There are… procedures that could have… but no. If I’d had something done before coming we wouldn’t have William now.”

“But there  _ are _ ways to keep ye from getting with child again?” he sought to clarify. 

“Nothing I could perform on myself,” Claire dismissed with a shrug. “I don’t know what herbs might be effective and there are other means––devices I could try to fashion––but there’s no guarantee any of those would be effective and the risks…”

Jamie’s brow furrowed with disappointment as Claire slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. Her hand rubbed up and then down his back, soothing. He’d noticed her doing the same to William’s back when he was gassy after nursing. The thought that she might, in some small way, be burping him made him chuckle. He nestled his cheek against the soft cloud of her hair. 

It wasn’t a burp but something rose inside him and burst––the spark of an idea. 

“Do ye ken… that is… ye said there’s something could be done to yerself but that ye canna manage on yer own…”

“I’m  _ not _ talking you through any sort of surgical procedure,” Claire asserted vehemently. “Not an elective procedure anyway. If there were an emergency and I wasn’t able to––”

“Will ye stop, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted. “That’s no what I’m asking at all. I want to know if there’s anything can be done to  _ me _ that ye might manage.” He felt her go stiff in his arms and pulling back to look at her face could see something had occurred to her and that she was debating it fiercely in the quiet recesses of her mind. Though whatever it was had ostensibly been his idea, he felt the first sting of nervous fear creeping up his spine. “Nothing  _ too _ drastic, mind…” 

“Shh,” she gestured with a finger as she stared at something he couldn’t see. Then she blinked and shook her head without conviction. “It would have its own risks and be painful and difficult to accomplish. If I had a means of anesthetizing you…”

“Ye mean there’s something might be done?” He swallowed nervously before leading her to the bed and making her sit. “Tell me what it is and give me a chance to have a say. Dinna be decidin’ one way or another for me.”

Claire stared at him for a long moment then glanced to where William slept in his cradle. 

“The sterilization procedures I know for women are too invasive,” she began. “Our reproductive organs are too difficult to access… but  _ male _ reproductive organs…” Her eyes drifted to his lap and he fought the urge to cross his legs. 

“Ah… and what would ye need to do to it, exactly?” 

Claire clearly and calmly detailed each step of what it would take to perform a vasectomy and Jamie did his best to follow and reason through the procedure she described but picturing it––picturing  _ himself _ on the receiving end of Claire’s wee knife… 

He was distracted from his discomfort and nerves by Claire. He let the gentle confidence of her tone carry him through. There had been many times he’d seen her work with the injured or the ill, both the simple cases that swept through Lallybroch’s tenants and the dire emergencies of a battlefield hospital. Even so, he was amazed anew as he watched her slide into the artfully trained healer she’d become during their time apart. Healing had been a part of her before, lurking below the surface with her natural skill flickering from time to time. But now, he could see the definition it had given her, a series of well-developed muscles that stood out and knew precisely how to perform what was demanded of them. She might need to find new ways to accomplish certain aspects of the procedure, but her capability was undeniable. 

When he realized she’d stopped talking and was waiting for his response, met her eye. “Can ye do it?”

“Well I just told you––”

“I dinna need ye to go through it all again. I just need ye to tell me if ye were able to find what ye needed, could ye do it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want ye to do it.”

“Jamie…”

“Claire… Ye’ve given me three bairns and went through hell along the way,” he said taking her hand.

“I don’t know that I’d call pregnancy and childbirth ‘hell,’” she muttered. 

“But there was pain in it, no? A great deal more than what it would be for me to suffer in this, I’d wager.”

A smile played on Claire’s lips. “I’d expect so…  _ I can stand pain myself _ , isn’t that what you said once? Was it really that bad for you watching me in labor?”

“It wasna the pain so much as I expected… But fearin’ something would go amiss––and no just at the last there, but those weeks and months… I can survive what must be done for this, but I canna survive losing ye again. I want to take ye and not feel that fear sittin’ nearby and I want to hold ye in my arms after and sleep soundly.”

Claire nodded. “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll find and make what I need but  _ you _ have to be the one to explain to Ian what’s going on and why I’ll need him to help hold you still. Might need a second or third set of hands as well.”


	35. The Weight of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie wakes dazed and in pain after Claire has performed a delicate procedure.

Jamie woke feeling like he was one enormous, throbbing bruise. His head pounded, his joints were sore, and he couldn’t begin to describe the excruciating ache in his groin.

He groaned and started to roll to one side, his stomach queasy. The pain that rattled through him with the movement––especially the daggers behind his eyes––caused him to double up, barely bending over the side of the bed before emptying the contents of his gut into a ready bucket.

The hand patting his shoulder definitely wasn’t Claire’s and neither was the low amused laugh. 

“Claire warned ye’d likely do that soon’s ye came to,” Ian informed him, grimacing at the bucket before setting it aside and offering Jamie a cloth with which to wipe his mouth and a mug with watered down ale to rinse away the taste.

“Where is she?” Jamie croaked before resting his forehead into the pillow and blocking out the light.

“The bairn needed feeding and she didna think ye’d appreciate a squalling babe wi’ the headache she kent ye’d have,” Ian explained. He set the cloth and mug aside and reached for a bannock and another mug, this one with something stronger than just ale. “She said this should help take the edge off and to go slow so ye keep this down. Ye’re to be weaned off the whisky and onto a special tea she’s brewin’ ye for the pain.”

Jamie winced as he struggled to prop himself up in the bed. “Christ, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the shins and sat on by a horse.” He took the bannock and broke it in half to nibble. It was too dry for him and biting down caused his jaw to ache, so he took a sip of the whisky––which stopped the buzzing in his ears so he took a second sip––then gestured for Ian to take it and give him back the diluted ale; he might be hungover but that was no excuse for wasting good whisky softening the bannock so it was soft enough to push around with his tongue before swallowing.

Ian laughed. “I suppose I’m the horse if there was one sittin’ on ye,” Ian remarked. “None were willing to venture near yer feet so we tied yer legs down. Claire tried to keep it from chaffing ye but ye were tryin’ to writhe around something fierce. She sat on ye at the last. I canna say how it went though she said it was a success––couldna bring myself to look and though ye’ve bandages enough should she be tryin’ to cover up unmannin’ ye altogether, I think ye’re as intact as ye’re meant to be.”

Jamie rolled his eyes but it caused a brief flash of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut until it passed only to keep them shut as he tried to remember the details of the procedure Claire had performed.

He remembered the whisky and he was fairly certain Claire must’ve slipped some laudanum in as well. The memories he could conjure had a hazy glow about them. Unlike the memories of having approached Ian to explain what sort of assistance he and Claire would be needing from him. Even now Ian looked pale though the uncertainty had been replaced with relief.

“It’s still there,” Jamie assured his friend. “I dinna think it would hurt half so much were it gone.”

“I dinna ken if puttin’ yerself through that makes you a better man or only a more foolish one.”

Jamie snorted. “Clearly ye’re the better man or ye’d no be so generous about it.”

“I’m still no sure I understand _why_ ye’ve done it, Jamie,” Ian said, his good humor yielding to curiosity and concern. “After all the time ye lost wi’ Brianna when Jenny and I both ken how much ye wanted a family wi’ Claire… and now ye’ve William and––ye dinna ken what it means to Jenny to see ye wi’ yer bairn… Do ye really no want more wi’ Claire now ye have her back? What’ve William? Do ye no want him to know what it is to have a brother?”

Jamie sighed. He had no doubt that Ian had worried over Jenny with each child she carried; he had grieved the loss of their wee Caitlin alongside Jenny. But he had never come as close to losing Jenny forever as Jamie had with Claire, first with Faith and then to the stones.

“I hoped for many things once and aye, a houseful of bairns wi’ Claire was one of ‘em. And instead, I lost her––her and the chance to know Brianna from the start. I didna have hope then that I’d ever have either of them again. We neither of us hoped for Willie till he was on his way and then we only hoped he’d be healthy. I’m no about to hope for more than what I have ever again for fear it will be lost.”

Ian was shaking his head sadly back and forth, still unable to understand.

“Hopin’ like that is what life is for,” Ian posited.

“I’m hopin’ now for a long life with Claire and Willie,” Jamie countered gently. His aching body was yearning to return to sleep; nothing hurt quite so much in sleep as it did waking. “Ye’ll be a grandda soon and my Willie’ll be closer in age to yer _grand_ child than he’ll be to his youngest older cousin.”

Ian chuckled. “Aye… we’re no so young as we were and maybe if there were a simpler way I’d join ye but in this I’m happy to leave ye on yer own.” Ian rose from his chair and stared at the bucket on the floor with a frown. “Is yer stomach settled enough to go wi’out a bucket? I canna stand the smell much longer.”

“Go on,” Jamie urged with a weak wave of the hand. “And if ye see Claire could ye have her bring Willie in?”

Ian nodded and carefully carried the bucket out leaving behind the whisky.

Jamie set the cup he’d been using aside and slid back against the pillows.

It wasn’t Claire who appeared at the door a short time later but Jenny with William blinking and rubbing his eyes having just woken up from a nap.

“Yer wife,” Jenny began, using her foot to close the door, “walked into my kitchen, picked up the chicken I’d just finished plucking for dinner from the counter, sliced its skin from tailfeather to neck, and plopped it on the table tellin’ my Janet to stitch it back together.”

She sat with an amused huff in the chair Ian had abandoned and shifted William in her lap so he leaned back against her bosom and could watch Jamie. Seeing his father smile at him, William’s feet began to kick against Jenny’s thighs till she wrapped one arm across his middle and reached down with her other hand to catch one of the dancing feet and rub her thumb along his long toes.

“Needless to say ye’ll be waiting on Claire and yer dinner both. But Ian said ye were after seeing the lad as well as Claire and as the kitchen’s been turned into a surgery for the time bein’ I said I’d bring him up. He’ll need a change before long, I’m sure.”

Jamie chuckled but even that movement jarred his body in ways that were still too painful and he wound up wincing and gripping the bedclothes tight until the aching wave receded.

Jenny’s cheeriness had slipped when he dared look back at her again. William twisted in her arms enough to look up at her with confusion.

“Ian said I should bring the bucket back wi’ me,” she tried to joke. “I didna think ye’d want me carryin’ the wean _in_ the bucket though.”

“Dinna make me laugh,” Jamie begged, closing his eyes and grimacing.

“Sorry. I can go back for the bucket or tell Claire ye want her that way and she’ll come…” Jenny offered.

“Dinna bother her,” he shook his head slowly, carefully. “She mentioned she needed to find some way to make it up to Janet. Before all this she’d promised the lass she watch the next time she needed to stitch someone back together.”

Jenny laughed quietly to keep from jarring William too much. “Claire didna think ye’d be fool enough to dream up something like this then.” The baby had hold of her sleeve and was picking the stitching at the wrist, the texture having caught his attention.

Jamie frowned at her. “Ye think it was foolish then, too.”

Before he could sigh or roll his eyes, Jenny said, “No,” with an honesty that startled him. He met her eye and she continued, “Ian wasna there to see ye when ye insisted on stayin’ with Claire through her labor and even if he had, he’d no have seen nor recognized what I did. Ye had the same fear in yer eyes that Da had when they told him Mam was havin’ trouble with Rabbie. Nothin’ we said or did was goin’ to make it go away either. Even wi’ both of them after––even with Claire out of bed and Willie here growin’ so fast––ye looked like ye were waitin’ for something bad to happen.”

Jamie swallowed and looked away. Jenny didn’t stop but the somber note vanished from her voice and he could hear her smile. “But when ye explained what ye wanted Claire to do, ye were determined and so clearly relieved… It was like a weight had been lifted off _my_ shoulders.”

A snort escaped Jamie. “ _You_ felt relieved that _I_ ––”

“For so long I thought I’d never see ye with a bairn of yer own,” Jenny interrupted. “Seeing ye with Willie here… I dinna think I’ve ever been happier for ye, brother, and I ken Mam and Da would have been so proud––especially Da… But seeing that fear still on ye… it made me feel selfish to have wanted it for ye so bad.” She raised a hand to stop him before he could object. “I ken ye wanted Willie here and ye wanted him bad… but ye need Claire too and… I’m glad ye’ll not have to feel ye’re putting her in danger when all ye want to do is love her.”

“Thank ye, Jenny,” Jamie nodded.

She nodded back then looked down at William. He looked up at her, his finger still picking at the thread on the cuff of her sleeve that he’d made come loose.

“Can ye promise ye’ll no squirm and cause yer da trouble if I leave ye with him long enough to hurry yer mam along out of my kitchen?” she asked the bairn, bringing her nose close enough to touch his.

He smiled at her and squeaked with the beginnings of a giggle. Then his hand was on her nose, his tiny fingernails digging in and leaving faint scratches behind when she covered his hand with her own and pulled it away.

“It’s a strange kind of love ye feel for nieces and nephews, isn’t it? Ye love them and enjoy them like they’re yer own but there’s something… _freer_ in it. Ye worry for them but dinna fear quite so much as when they’re yer responsibility to teach and scold. With yer own bairns… the weight of that love can be paralyzing at times.”

“The blessing and the curse of parenthood,” Jamie agreed as Jenny rose and brought William over to the bed. “There’s nothing matches it for pride and joy or for fear.” Jenny stretched William out and lay him on his belly on Jamie’s chest so that the baby’s cheek rested on Jamie’s sternum.

William dug his fists into Jamie’s shirt––pulling at the chest hair beneath in the process––then used his leverage to wobbily push himself up onto his forearms and raise his head so he could look up at Jamie watching him. The triumphant smile and squeal of delight made them both laugh, Jamie’s physical pain no match for the happiness of the moment.

Jenny stood watching father and son, reluctant to leave. The infant’s head became to heavy for him to keep aloft so he rested his cheek back against Jamie’s chest, his body rising and falling as his father breathed deeply.

“I’ll go for Claire,” Jenny reiterated, reaching out and gently cupping the back of her nephew’s head for a moment then reaching up and brushing her brother’s hair back from his forehead. “Tell her that her men are lookin’ for her.”

Jamie smiled. “Aye, you do that. We’ll bide for a bit.”

William blinked watching Jenny leave then tried to lift his head again. He wasn’t able to raise it enough to look at Jamie, instead resting his forehead on Jamie’s sternum and sucking on the fabric of his shirt.

Jamie snorted and moved to lift the baby from his chest but there was an ungainliness to the limbs that he didn’t trust so he settled for laying them on William’s back to prevent him from taking a tumble.

“I dinna expect ye’ll ever know or wonder,” Jamie murmured quietly, “but I did this because of you, _mo chiusle_. Not for the reason most would think; surprise though ye were, I’d no trade ye for the world.” His thumb brushed the dark hair that still grew unevenly on William’s head. It wasn’t very long but Jamie thought it was starting to twist with the promise of becoming curls. “No, I did this to keep yer mam safe for yer sake as much as mine.”

William’s fists balled in Jamie’s shirt again and he stopped gnawing on Jamie to rest and listen to his breathing instead.

Jamie tried to summon the image of his mother but as had been happening more and more lately, the impression shifted and he found himself picturing Brianna instead. It was easier for him to think of what his father would make of everything and everyone––Claire, Brianna, William…––in his life than of what his mother would make of it. The memories he had of her were distorted by the innocence and ignorance of childhood. Where he had grown old enough to witness and understand his father’s imperfections while the man lived, the same couldn’t be said of his mother. She had been everything warm and comforting and then suddenly she was gone along with so much of his father; it had taken months for genuine warmth to crawl back into Brian Fraser’s voice, for his eyes to look anything other than hollow.

That was a confusion and sorrow he prayed William would never know, having known the taste of it himself for fifteen years.

“If there’s anything must be done to protect ye, _a bhailach_ … well, _je suis prest_ . Ye’ll ken someday what that really means,” Jamie promised. He had to shift his head to stare awkwardly down at his chest where the crown of William’s head was all that was visible. “I’ll teach ye as yer grandda taught me… though I dinna think I _truly_ understood until I met yer mam. Wi’ her I’ve had to be ready for anything and for her––and _you_ and yer sister––I’ve been ready to _do_ anything, too.”

“Are you telling him a story?” Claire asked from the doorway. She was leaning against the doorframe and wiping her hands on her apron.

“In a way,” Jamie said, his eyes following Claire as she crossed to the bed and leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead.

“And perhaps the more important question: how are you feeling?” Her eyes had left his face and William on his chest to travel over the rest of his body under the thin blanket. He watched the furrow between her eyes relax and she nodded to herself, pleased.

“I’m sore all over and still tired but no too bad, I dinna think.”

She lifted William from his chest and turned him around to face her. He grinned at her, showing his gums and opening and closing his fist near her nose. She resettled him in her arms, his head propped against her shoulder, and let him pull on the laces of her bodice.

“I want you to stay in bed for at least the next two days,” she told him. “I need to be sure you don’t develop any kind of fever. After that, you can try walking around a bit but nothing too strenuous. You should be back to normal in a fortnight or so.”

“Back to _normal?_ ” he raised his eyebrows and grinned when he saw the color rise in her cheeks as she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, back to _normal_.” Jamie’s eyes locked on her so that he could see the pulse flickering at her throat, the flush fading as it progressed from her cheeks to her neck and became gooseflesh still lower, the way she licked her lips before dropping her eyes and clearing her throat.

William had pulled enough for the laces to loosen. His hand rested on her breast possessively and he whined.

“All right, lad. I know you’re hungry,” she cooed, taking his hand in hers and rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. “Your da is always hungry when he wakes up too. Have you tried eating the bannocks in the drawer yet?” she asked before jerking her head to look up at Jamie. “I left your tea downstairs,” she exclaimed. “It’ll help with––”

“It’ll keep,” he interrupted. “I’m no hungry just now and the queasiness is faded for the time bein.’ What I’d like is just to ken ye’re here.”

Claire nodded and moved to grab the chair at her dressing table, pulling it up alongside the bed before sitting down and settling William in her lap to nurse. She propped her feet up on the edge of the bed next to Jamie’s leg.

“I hear ye’re teaching young Janet how to sew her supper back together,” he remarked, fishing for a story.

Claire smiled and obliged, running her fingers across William’s forehead and jostling his fists where they gripped her fingers as he fed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cantrixgrisea over on Tumblr did an AMAZING illustration for this chapter
> 
> <https://cantrixgrisea.tumblr.com/post/165516047024/a-very-quick-picture-for-lenny9987-i-just-love>


	36. With Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire are in a stalemate over an aspect of his recovery.

William was fighting going down for his nap. Claire paced around the table in the center of the stillroom rocking him and humming but he remained unaffected with his head against her shoulder cooing and grunting and fussing in regular rotation. She finally stopped trying to force it and pulled on the sling, settling him in and trying to get some work done one-handed, her left arm serving as an extra support along his back with her hand gently patting his bottom to help keep him quiet and calm. 

“Let’s see then,” she said to him quietly. “The valerian root needs to be boiled for that sleep tonic Mrs. Crook was asking for and the dried yarrow needs to be taken down and put away for later.”

She continued to talk to William as she moved about the room, effectively lecturing him about the different herbs and why they needed to be prepared the way they did. Janet, along with most of the household, were preoccupied with the harvest. The first frost would be setting in soon and anyone not out in the fields reaping was in the kitchen preserving and storing. Except Claire. She was on hand for the inevitable mishaps that occurred when haste took precedence over care. In the previous three days she’d sewn up half a dozen lacerations from mishandled scythes and other sharp implements (lamenting the lack of tetanus vaccine each time), she had handed out twice as many ointments, rubs, and teas to help alleviate the back and muscle complaints, and there had been a mild concussion and fractured wrist when one of the men had fallen into the empty root cellar when a rung on the ladder broke. She and Jenny made all the field hands wash up at the end of the day, urging them to soak their battered hands for a few minutes in a warm tub of water infused with yarrow. 

William stayed quiet and he stayed awake. Every time she looked down at him to see if he’d passed out, he smiled back at her and nuzzled against her or pulled at the fabric of his sling like he was trying to get a better look at what she was doing. 

Claire began making faces at William, hoping to make him laugh. So far he smiled squeaked or smiled and snorted, but nothing that could be considered a proper laugh. She and Jamie were quietly competing to see who would be the first to pull that elusive giggle out of him. The approaching footsteps from the hallway were drowned out by the noise of the raspberries she was blowing at William. 

“D’ye need help wi’ the bairn?” Jamie asked from the doorway.

He’d stayed in bed for two days following his delicate surgery and kept to his rooms for another two, finding it uncomfortable and embarrassing to walk while still in his dressings. After a week, he’d become fed up with them and had taken them off on his own. Claire had scolded him as she examined her handiwork and talked about when she would need to remove his stitches. He complained that they itched and decided to remove those unassisted as well when Claire was busy with the man who’d tumbled into the root cellar. When she found out, she threatened to put them back in again and pressed for him to let her examine the healing incision. Uncertain whether or not she was sincere, he had refused to allow her close enough to make such an exam. Without seeing his condition for herself, Claire refused to let him work with the other men in the field at the harvest. Jamie was relegated to carrying water and wood for the women in the kitchens as they boiled and blanched and bottled and sealed in a seemingly endless cycle of jars, crocks, and produce. 

It was a stalemate both had tired of but which neither could imagine yielding. 

“If you don’t mind,” Claire agreed. She reached and lifted the strap of the sling over her head while she clutched William to her chest and struggled to disengage from the simple contraption. “He hasn’t had his nap yet but doesn’t seem to be tired,” she explained as she passed the baby over to his father. William’s feet kicked furiously in the empty air as Jamie took him and turned him about so he could look back at Claire. 

She pressed her hands to her lower back and arched to try and stretch the knots out of the muscles then moved her hands to her neck and did the same. 

“That thing can be helpful but it isn’t comfortable wearing it so long.”

“Shhh,” Jamie hissed quietly.

Claire turned to see that William’s body had gone slack with sleep where Jamie clutched the babe to him. 

“The bloody little…” Claire muttered and shook her head before a laugh threatened to erupt from her chest. Jamie chuckled low as he slowly shifted his hold on William to a more practical one. Regaining control, she pointed Jamie at the corner where she’d blocked off a small space and lined it with blankets to serve as William’s napping and play area while she worked. 

As Jamie laid the baby down he heard a noise at the door and looked up to see that Claire had drawn the bolt and stood barring the exit.

“You’re not leaving this room until you let me check your incisions to be sure they’ve healed properly,” she informed him. The color rose in his cheeks. He looked at the ground when he nodded.

Her eyes trailed him as he walked from the corner where William lay oblivious to the center of the room resting a hand on her work table. 

Convinced he had in fact accepted his fate and wasn’t waiting for her to move from the door so he could bolt, Claire took a few tentative steps toward him. 

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and she could see just how far the color in his face had spread––from the tips of his ears and all down his neck, disappearing into the loose collar of his shirt where the sweat from carrying the buckets of water into the kitchen had soaked the fabric. 

She got to her knees and fumbled with the buttons of his breeks. Pulling his shirt up and out of his waistband, she cleared her throat and waited for him to take the hem and keep it out of her way. He sighed and she heard his fingers tapping and anxious and embarrassed patter on the table top next to her head. 

She tried not to smile but failed when she heard the sharp intake of his breath the moment she took him in her hand. 

“Are my hands cold?” she teased even as she felt for the slightly raised line of the healed incision and quickly gauged the temperature before he began to rouse to her touch––warm and getting hotter but nothing unexpected or dangerous. He didn’t wince either, when she lightly pressed her thumb to the surrounding area so no tenderness or heat from infection. 

“No,” Jamie responded shortly. “Not cold. Are ye… are ye through yet?”

She rubbed her thumb lightly along the soft, smooth skin, tracing the veins and feeling his pulse grow stronger. 

“Do you want me to be?” she asked licking her lips when he started and looked down at her. 

It wasn’t possible for his face to grow redder so it began turning purple with embarrassment instead. He pulled back, yelping a bit when she tightened her grip on him a little. “Now… now’s no the time, Claire,” he protested looking to the door and to the corner desperately. 

“There’s nothing for you to worry about anymore,” she told him, her hand working slowly and gently to rouse him fully. She thought of taking him in her mouth but that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the growing hunger low in her belly that was inching lower and heating the space between her thighs. 

He hesitated and bit his lip. She could feel his hips swaying slightly and the tremor in his legs. “The bairn…”

Claire let him go while she rose to her feet, then took his hand as she backed herself against her work table. “William is sleeping and he’ll stay that way,” she promised. He watched her, dazed and slow as she settled on the work table and opened her knees. “It’s no different than if we were in bed and he was sleeping in his cradle.” She dropped his hand to hike up her skirts then quickly took hold of it again and pressed his palm to the damp heat between her legs, smiling when he cursed under his breath and took a few steps closer, his fingers shifting and easily exploring her ready and eager flesh. . 

“It’s been long enough,” she assured him, drawing him closer, “for both of us.”

He closed his eyes and breathed her name against her lips before kissing her hard and thrusting home with a single forceful stroke that stole her breath. 

“I dinna think I can be gentle,” he warned her trembling as she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him in deeper. 

“Good,” she chuckled, reaching up and slipping her arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me hard and fast,” she whispered in his ear, feeling his hands alight on her waist then slide down to take a tighter hold at her hips. 

“With pleasure,” he grinned.

“That’s the idea,” she started to say but he had started to move inside her again and the teasing retort became a moan of pleasure, her fingers digging sharply into his shoulders. She rocked against him and bit his shoulder through his shirt when her chest seized with the urge to cry out. Jamie’s breath came in short hot bursts against her neck, his nose pressed to her cheek. His initial hesitation and habitual fear fading quickly as he lost himself in the soft warmth of her body. 

A small bottle toppled on the table behind them but Claire didn’t notice until it had rolled and fallen from the other side of the table, smashing on the stones near the hearth and filling the room with the strong, clean scent of the peppermint oil it had contained. 

Jamie lifted her from the table then and she struggled to wrap herself tighter around him as he bore her to the floor––a surface that wouldn’t move. It wasn’t much longer before Jamie’s punishing rhythm faltered and she heard his choked gasp in her ear. Their bodies continued to move together, slowing gradually as Jamie lingered in his release and Claire’s finally came upon her quietly, a ripple of loosened tension rather than something strained until it snapped. They lay entwined on the floor of her stillroom, trembling and listening, staying silent longer than their desperate coupling had lasted. 

“I worried it might… be different,” Jamie whispered, “might…  _ feel _ different.”

“And did it?” 

He nodded his head, a satiated grin on his face. “Aye, but no in the way I’d feared,” he confessed, “not different physically so much as… I was with  _ you _ , not... stuck inside my own head.” He pulled her closer against his chest, burying his face in her hair.

She brushed his cheek and then slipped her hand to the nape of his neck, catching his attention and pulling his lips down to hers for a tender and lingering kiss. 


	37. Padding the CV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Randall offers Roger a unique opportunity.

Roger glanced up and down the street then at the watch on his wrist. They’d agreed to meet at the archives at ten o’clock and he’d been afraid of running late. He’d slept longer than he planned having stayed up late the night before studying––one more exam in two days’ time and he’d be on break––so he skipped breakfast and was quickly regretting it. He looked around for sign of Professor Randall and his daughter, wondering if he would have time to find a cafe and grab something to quiet his stomach. 

Her hair caught the light down the way and Roger’s stomach dropped with despair. He’d have to put up with a grumbling belly until they broke for lunch. He wasn’t about to put them off when Professor Randall was doing him a huge favor asking for his help researching. Any kind of credit in something Professor Randall published would be great for his CV, especially as he planned to continue in history working toward a doctorate and eventual professorship of his own. The letter of recommendation he’d already been promised would carry more weight too. 

“Sorry if we kept you waiting,” Professor Randall apologized. “Brianna and I became distracted by the architecture.”

“Aye, ye can see several centuries’ worth cobbled together in quite a few places hereabouts,” Roger agreed with a smile, hoping they couldn’t hear the grumbling in his gut. 

“Indeed.” Professor Randall nodded and moved to enter the building.

“Here,” Brianna held out a small paper bag for Roger before he could turn to catch the door and hold it for her. “As a thank you for getting up so early to come help.”

Inside was a half-eaten pastry. 

“I couldn’t bear to let it go to waste,” she explained, stepping past him and taking hold of the door herself to wave him through first. 

“I cannae tell ye how grateful I am,” he muttered before shoving the food into his mouth and crumpling the bag in his fist. 

“I know my cousins were  _ always _ hungry, no matter how much they ate at mealtimes. Mama said she learned fast after marrying Da that it was a good idea to always carry extra bannocks with you when young men were about… like carrying dog biscuits at the park.” Roger coughed and tried not to choke as he swallowed. A flicker of a smile tugged at Brianna’s mouth. “I figured it was a safe bet it wouldn’t go to waste.” 

Professor Randall was talking with one of the staff at the front desk as they joined him. 

“Now ye’re all here, I’ll show ye to the viewing room,” the woman explained, leading the way. “We’ve been working to have many of our records put on the microfilm so if ye canna find what ye’re lookin’ for on yer own, ye’ll need to file a special request and we’ll check against our other records to see if it’s out just now.”

Brianna and Professor Randall exchanged concerned glances but remained silent, their footsteps ringing on the tiled floor in unison. 

“Do ye ken how to work the machine?” the woman asked as she held open the door for them. 

“Aye,” Roger assured her. “I can manage it.” 

She smiled. “I’ll leave ye to it then, Professor. I must ask ye to be verra careful if ye must handle the pages directly––move slow when ye turn the pages and make sure ever’thing’s tucked properly in its place before ye move on. Leave the ones ye’ve done with on that table and if ye need copies made there’s request forms there as well. The phone on the wall goes to the front desk if ye need anything else.”

“Yes, thank you.” Professor Randall had already taken off his suit jacket and settled it on the back of a chair, balancing his hat on the corner. He took a single pad of lined paper and a pen from his thin briefcase and set them on the table. 

“We need to start in the autumn of 1761,” Brianna said to her father. “As many issues as we can find. Hopefully there aren’t too many gaps in the collection.”

“We’ll need to see if any of ‘61 is on the microfilm yet,” Professor Randall replied, loosening his tie and crossing to the door into the records room itself. 

“What exactly are we looking for?” Roger asked following. 

“Newspapers. As many as they have starting in May of 1761.”

“It’ll be in the  _ Courant _ ,” Brianna insisted. “And it won’t be that early. August or September.”

They filed into the records room and began searching the spines on the shelves which were organized by year rather than publication. It took a few minutes to locate the section they were looking for and there was a rather large gap on the shelf. The relief in Brianna’s voice was unmistakable as she announced, “1759.”

They each carried one of the large volumes from the shelf back to the viewing room. Individual pages from the newspaper were tucked carefully between blank pages of slightly thicker and sturdier stock. The dimensions of the blank pages allowed for at least an inch of space all round the edge of the two-hundred-year-old newsprint. 

“What is it ye’re looking for?” Roger asked as they settled in at the table, spacing themselves so they could each lay their volumes flat.

“Any paid announcements,” Professor Randall informed him. “Not advertisements… birth announcements.”

“The name would be Fraser,” Brianna said. Her eyes were already roaming back and forth across the first page, her attention rapt. Professor Randall too frowned at the page before him as he skimmed its contents. 

Roger found himself distracted as he shifted in his seat and bent to his task. He glanced up frequently to watch the Randalls as they searched, turned to the next page, the next issue, and searched some more. Brianna puzzled him. It had been about two weeks since her unexpected reappearance. He would have thought they’d head back home to Boston quickly but so far they were still staying at the Manse with his father––aside from this brief stay in Edinburgh for Professor Randall to conduct some of his research. 

That puzzled Roger too. Yes, it was a large expense to travel back and forth from America to Scotland for something like spending a day or two at a specific archive. But with everything Brianna had been through, it surprised him that Professor Randall could think of work just then. 

He turned his attention back to watching Brianna. It worried him at first the way she’d talked about what happened with her mother and biological father. He wished Mrs. Graham hadn’t fed into it the way she did and yet… it seemed to have helped the lass to process the separation from her mother. She was stronger than she appeared and again he was struck by the maturity she demonstrated for her age. She would be all right and would cope with her situation well. 

Professor Randall finished with his first tome and set it aside on a cart to be reshelved properly by the staff before disappearing through the door to fetch another one. Brianna looked up to watch him go but quickly turned her attention back to her own pages. She was only about halfway through––still further than he’d managed to get. His mind kept drifting and leading him to doubt his thoroughness so he checked everything three times. 

When he finally did stumble upon the name Fraser, he simply stared at it, stunned. 

Brianna noticed first that he wasn’t turning the pages anymore and looked up, eager. 

“Roger?”

He blinked at her, his brow furrowing with confusion. She rose quickly, her chair scraping across the floor in her haste to reach his side and see what he’d found. Frank followed the same pattern but with slow and deliberate movements.

“ _ Mr. James A. M. M. Fraser and wife, Claire E. B. R. Fraser, do wish to announce the birth of their son, William James Murtagh Beauchamp Fraser _ ,” Brianna read aloud, her volume rising with excitement that confirmed Roger’s suspicion that this was precisely what she’d been hoping to find. She took a deep, shuddering breath before Roger continued for her. 

“ _ Born 17 September. Christened 13 November. Though their daughter, Miss Brianna E. Fraser, is lately travelled to Boston with family friends, they do hope these tidings find her well and relieve her of any apprehension on the part of her mother and brother. All her family are in good health and continue to wish her well. _ ” 

Roger looked up at Brianna when he’d finished. She was blinking back tears. 

“It’s… They’re talkin’ about you,” he muttered, baffled. “That’s… they’re the ones ye told Mrs. Graham of when…” He shook his head, his thoughts darting from point to point while she stretched her fingers to lightly brush the words on the page itself. 

“They’re okay,” she murmured with relief.

Frank rested a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

“It’s––That’s yer mother’s name, right there,” Roger continued, still wrapping his mind around the two hundred year old newspaper announcement. “ _ Beauchamp _ , right there in the wee lad’s name.” 

Brianna turned to Frank. “We have to keep looking. There might be more of them,” she insisted. Reaching up to wipe at her eyes before sitting back down and picking up where she’d left off moments earlier. 

“Roger,” Frank quietly sought his attention, “Would you mind filling out a request form to have that page copied?”

“Of course, sir,” Roger nodded then crossed the room to fetch the necessary paper, trying not to listen as Frank’s voice dropped.

“Bree, we’ll keep looking for today but I don’t want you losing yourself to this,” he whispered.

“How is this any different from the research you do all the time for work?” she challenged.

“You’re too personally involved. The highs and lows of a search like this will be worse. It’s impossible for you to be objective and when things take a left-hand turn, when an obstacle arises… you’ll need someone who can step back and find a solution.”

“So you think someone else should take over searching for these traces? And how are you going to explain it to them, huh?” Brianna crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a skeptical frown. 

Roger felt Frank’s eyes land on him as he stood staring at the request form and taking in none of the information it required. 

“What about you, Roger? Have you seen enough to believe yet? It’s not an easy idea to accept. I know I resisted for a long while… but I would truly appreciate if you would continue as a research assistant for me here in Scotland,” Frank said. 

Roger turned slowly meeting Frank’s eye first and then glancing down at Brianna. The pleading and desperation in her eyes was irresistible. 

“Aye, sir. I’d be happy to help ye with research on whatever project ye might need,” he nodded, carrying the form back to the table and hastily copying the book’s number from the spine along with the page number for the entry. 

“It will be good practice for assisting me on other… academic projects as well,” Frank hinted. 

“As you say, sir,” Roger replied, focusing on the page even as he fought to keep the pen in his hand steady. The lass’ story of traveling back and forth in time was true. Her mother had stayed behind with another man and was still there––or had she already died there? How did it all work? And Professor Randall had asked  _ him _ to become a research assistant––a proper one as well as an informal one. The remnants of the pastry Brianna had given him early weren’t enough to combat the adrenaline and excitement coursing through him. He was light-headed and vaguely detached from the work at hand. More food soon would help him to focus better but it would take several days––more likely weeks––to fully wrap his head around the day’s revelations. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nov. 9, 2017: For some reason this chapter got skipped when I was posting; apologies for the delay and any confusion for the out of order stuff.


	38. A Silly Verse and Silly Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna deals with disappointment and starts preparing to return to Boston.

Brianna watched Roger as he bent to fill out the form. Could he be trusted? Did he truly believe or was he just playing along? She had heard enough of her father’s conversations with Reverend Wakefield about Roger’s studies and other “normal” things. 

It was clear that they would be returning to Boston soon. The timing of her return meant Frank had needed colleagues to cover his classes at the worst possible time in the semester and he had to be back to administer final exams for his classes. But she also knew that he thought the return to Boston would change things, that they would be able to find a way to go back to how things were before. He was worried about her too but he wasn’t giving her enough credit. She missed her mother and Jamie just as she had missed Frank while she was with them. And she had found ways to deal with that ache then and she would find ways to deal with it now.

It was strange to think that it had only been two weeks since she’d seen them and yet she already knew what was going to happen to them months into their future. She  _ needed _ to know more, to take hold of that thread they’d found and gently pull, let it lead her to the next scrap of their lives. Frank was afraid she’d pull too hard and the thread would snap; that thought terrified her too, but she couldn’t let that fear stop her from tugging. Claire had found a thread to Jamie and used it to pull her all the way back through the stones to the love and the life she craved. She needed to be sure to have a thread of her own in case she ever wanted to go back. 

She was wasting time. Brianna went back to scanning through the newspapers for further notices, shoving the contingency plan that had started to form to the back of her mind. 

They hadn’t found anything else by the time it became clear they would need to stop for something to eat. Brianna pushed to come back in the afternoon but Frank reminded her, “I have a meeting with a former colleague at the university.”

“Roger can stay and keep looking with me,” she suggested, turning to Roger with a look that dared him to deny her request. If she could get him alone… 

His jaw dropped momentarily and a protracted, “ahhhh,” escaped while he visibly struggled to figure out what the appropriate response was for the situation. 

“I’m sure Roger has exams to prepare for,” Frank said, throwing Roger a lifeline. 

“That’s right… I have one exam left…  _ but _ … another hour or two willna hurt,” Roger compromised. “When ye’re through yer meeting ye’ll ken where to find her,” he said, turning to Frank.

Brianna’s cheeks grew hot with instinctive resentment.

Frank sighed. “If you don’t mind… I suppose that will work.”

“So long as I have something in my stomach, I’ll no mind at all.”

Frank took them for sandwiches but left for his meeting before they’d finished. As Roger led the way back to the archives, Brianna asked, “Do you speak Gàidhlig?”

There were two beats before Roger responded. “Aye, why do ye ask?”

“My father and cousin began teaching me and I don’t want to lose it… but I don’t know anyone who might give me lessons,” Brianna explained. “We’ll be going back to Boston soon and I know it won’t be regular the way it should… but would you mind writing to me and sending what you can to help me keep it up?”

They reached the entry of the archives again and this time Roger made a point of holding the door for her.

“I dinna see why not,” he capitulated. “I’m no a formal tutor, mind, but I can ask at the university. Someone’s bound to ken a proper instructor to recommend books and materials I can send yer way.”

“And the writing will be good practice,” Brianna pressed with a smile. 

Roger nodded, amused. “That it will. Now let’s see can we find more of yer notices in the  _ Courant _ .”

It was a further three hours before they found another notice and when they did, Brianna felt the urge to throw the book of old newsprint across the room. Roger filled out the request form to have the page copied while Brianna paced and fumed in her frustration.

“I already looked there,” she muttered to herself as though arguing with someone unseen. “ _ Where _ in there could it possibly be that we didn’t check?”

Frank arrived with the clerk, reaching out and knocking on the doorframe to announce their presence. 

Brianna glared at him for a moment before closing her eyes and breathing deeply. 

“No luck?” Frank asked.

“Not the kind of luck we were hoping for,” Roger admitted, turning the request form over to the clerk who took it along with the large book containing the page they wanted and hurried away. “It made a reference to the Dunbonnet legend that I’m afraid I didna understand.”

“The cave,” Brianna clarified. “They left something for me at the cave but whatever it was it’s gone now.” She kicked the leg of the chair hard enough for it to hit the table with a dull thud. 

“I’m afraid that’s how it goes sometimes,” Frank said with a tremor to his shoulders like he had cut off what might have been a dismissive shrug. “You need to be prepared to think about other means of tracking them and settle for what information you can find rather than the information you  _ want _ to find. History is a jigsaw puzzle with key pieces missing and sometimes they get fitted in the wrong places. Do you remember your alphabet puzzle when you were little?”

Brianna sighed. “I put the M upside down in the W space all the time.”

“You got it right in the end but sometimes it takes a few tries. Now let’s pack up your things and get going. Roger has his studies to return to and we have a long drive back to Inverness tomorrow.”

The clerk had the copied page waiting for them at the front desk as they left. Frank looked at it briefly then tucked it away in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. 

They bid farewell to Roger––Brianna raising her eyebrows in a silent question that Roger answered with a nod––and made their way back to their hotel having a quiet dinner in the restaurant downstairs before retiring early to read in bed. 

Brianna knew Frank wouldn’t put his book away until she’d done so first. She skimmed her way through a chapter of a novel she’d borrowed from Mrs. Graham before departing Inverness two days before and then set it on the table between the twin beds and rolled away from the light to feign sleep. Her heart pounded with every second of the fifteen minutes it took for Frank to set his book aside and turn out the light. She counted to five thousand to be sure he was asleep himself before shifting in the bed and slipping out the side next to the wall. 

Treading lightly, she kept her fingers on the wall to help guide her through the dark. Her eyes had adjusted while she waited so she could just make out the shape of the chair where her bag rested, the pale corner of the envelope she sought gleaming where it poked up from the depths. The paper crinkled slightly as she tugged it free and clutched it to her chest. Before she slipped to the bathroom she spotted Frank’s suit jacket carefully hanging on the rack next to the door. Extricating the folded copy from the inside pocket only took a moment and then she was safe behind the locked bathroom door with a light. 

She sat on the cool tiles of the floor with her back braced against the tub and quietly unfolded the copied page.

_ A Father’s Silly Verse for His Daughter _

_ Where the Dunbonnet dwells _ __  
_ Lies a wee book that tells _ __  
_ Of daily life _ __  
_ And occasional strife _ __  
_ That most will find dull _ __  
_ Like the squawks of a gull _ __  
_ But to a tuneless ear _ __  
_ Bears thoughts most dear _ __  
_ Of one that is gone _ __  
_ And how life must go on _ _  
_ __ –– J. A. M. M. Fraser

The awkward poem made Brianna roll her eyes even as she found it difficult to swallow. She had pored over that cave with Frank and they’d found nothing. It made her furious to think that someone might have discerned the truth of her father’s riddle and swept in to take whatever book it was that her parents had left for her. Though a more likely explanation was that time, weather, and animals had destroyed it or that someone had stumbled upon it incidentally. It was still a piece of her parents that had been lost on its way to her. How many more would there be?

Wiping at her eyes she set the page aside and turned to the envelope. Her name was on the front in her mother’s handwriting. She pried the seal up carefully so it wouldn’t break. 

_ Brianna, _

_ I’m so sorry for all the times I lied to you, for not telling you about Jamie from the start, for bringing you to that hill knowing what might happen and how horrible it would be. I hope you can forgive me for all that and for the fact that I’m not sorry to have had you with me on this journey. I was incredibly selfish in my actions but for the chance to see you and Jamie together, for the chance of being able to hold both of you in my arms at once, I would do it all again.  _

_ I also want you to understand that I don’t blame you at all for returning to Frank. I hope that there is nothing between you that needs mending, that he rightfully places all the blame for your leaving on me. Please give him the letter I’ve written him and ask that he reads it; I should hate for his last words from me to be the bitter ones I left behind when I took you to Scotland.  _

_ There are so many things I know I should be telling you. Finish school and follow your dreams feels silly to write and yet it’s what I wish most for you to do. There are so many opportunities you have where you are that you couldn’t have if you were to stay so I want desperately for you to make the most of them. I want you to be happy and I know you’re strong enough to stand up for yourself and make it happen. Keep us with you in your heart for you will always have a place in ours. I promise there will be no more lies and that your brother or sister will know the truth of you as you should have known from the beginning.  _

_ Behave yourself but have fun. Be courteous to others but don’t let them intimidate or shame you. Don’t be afraid to fall in love. Don’t be too ashamed to admit your mistakes and try not to be too cowardly to take responsibility for them when you inevitably make them. _

_ I will love you forever, _

_ Your mother, _

_ Claire _

_ P.S. Take Joe’s letter to him in person. I left some things in his care that you should have.  _

Brianna drew a shuddering breath and folded the letter, holding it tightly for a few moments before rising from the floor. 

She put the pages away and silently slipped back to bed. It didn’t seem like Frank had heard or stirred but she wondered and listened for signs he might not be as unaware of her movements as she hoped.

Pangs of guilt and sorrow twinged in her belly as she realized she didn’t trust him the way she had before. 


	39. Time and Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna arrives back at home in Boston.

Brianna closed her eyes and pretended to sleep on the cab ride from the airport so she and Frank wouldn’t have to make small talk. He had already told her three times that he was going to arrange a meeting with the superintendent of her school to discuss her placement for the coming school year. 

“I should be able to arrange for you to test into the class with the rest of your friends but you’ll have to put your nose to the grindstone and study up. You missed nearly the whole year,” he’d said as they waited on the runway in London. 

“I kept up with my studies,” she informed him. “Jamie helped with my French and Mama with my science and mathematics. I read a lot… though the choices were limited. It’s not like I was watching television before bed.”

That had silenced Frank for a while. He’d pulled out a newspaper while she tried to read her book but she couldn’t focus thanks to the knot in her stomach. She knew the story they had settled on to explain where she’d been and why she’d gone so suddenly but it didn’t make the prospect of returning to Boston any easier. 

“We’re home, Bree,” Frank said gently squeezing her arm to wake her up when the cab drew to a stop. 

She blinked and nodded, climbing from the backseat and waiting on the sidewalk for the cabbie to open the trunk and retrieve their luggage. 

Glancing up and down the street, it looked like it did every summer that she could remember. The perfectly spaced trees offered pockets of refreshing shade. Children could be heard in the distance, their screaming and laughing echoing off the brick walls and pavement. She was struck by the architecture of it all, so carefully arranged and built with clean lines and balanced order. And yet her eye was drawn to the dandelions that had sprouted from a crack in the sidewalk, the moss that clung to one side of the brownstone, the flowers in a window box that had grown beyond the bounds of their container and spilled over the edge, the wildness that could be suppressed and fought but never fully tamed or conquered. How had she overlooked those things so often before?

“Bree?” Frank called to her again from the step. He’d opened the front door and their suitcases sat just inside. 

She forced herself forward, up the stairs, and into the house. 

It smelled the same and the habitual feeling of comfort and home settled into her blood. No matter how much had changed, that smell would always calm and reassure her. The light through the windows made familiar patterns on the floor as she walked through the living room to the mantel where the photos of her childhood still stood proud––her first day of school, standing with her parents on either side of her for her first Communion, the school photo where she was missing her two front teeth, the photo of her with her mother as Claire held her diploma from medical school. She picked that last one up and stared at her mother’s face. Her smile was broad and proud. The paper of the rolled diploma stark against the vibrant ribbon that bound it. Her arm was draped over Brianna’s shoulders as she held her close against her body. 

Looking back to the mantel there were only a few other photos that featured Claire and in none of them did she look a fraction as happy and herself as she did in the photo from her graduation, hugging her daughter. Brianna knew this was a true picture of her mother in part because of how often she’d seen that smile in the months they’d been with Jamie. Like the dandelions outside, Brianna was a little ashamed to realize how much she’d overlooked her whole life. 

But no more. 

“Why don’t we go out for dinner?” Frank suggested, poking his head in from the kitchen. “I didn’t have much on hand before I left for Scotland and I’m afraid what little there was is in a sorry state after so many weeks. I’ll clean it tonight and we can shop for new stores tomorrow.”

“I want to see it,” Brianna said, solemnly. 

Frank frowned and glanced over his shoulder. “Are you sure? It’s a bit of a disgrace.”

“Not the kitchen,” Brianna responded, suppressing an annoyed smile. “I want to see what you found about Jamie. I want to see what it was you were keeping from Mama… from  _ me _ .”

Frank paled and stood straighter, adjusting his shoulders and reaching to habitually loosen his tie only to remember he wasn’t wearing one. 

“Very well,” he nodded and marched out of the room headed for his study. Brianna started at the swiftness of his steps but quickly moved to follow him. 

He was shuffling and stacking papers on his desk when she caught up, standing in the doorway. He offered it to her when he was done. 

A page from a prison register was on top, the name James Fraser circled so many times the paper looked like it might tear from the pressure of the pencil that had made the marks. Notes if Frank’s desperate hand were scattered in the margins and then the name Helwater had been underlined as heavily as Jamie’s name had been circled. She flipped through the next pages. A map of the highlands with an area circled and Lallybroch written with a question mark. An incomplete Fraser family tree with Brian Fraser’s line traced over in red pen for emphasis. Willie, Jenny, and Jamie were listed but only the dates of their births, no deaths, marriages, or descendants except for where Frank had added Claire and Brianna. The deed of Sasine passing Lallybroch to Jamie Murray and a few other land deeds from the area followed along with the death and marriage registers from the church in Broch Mordha for the years 1750 through 1775. 

“The dates are wrong,” she murmured and frowned. 

“The materials on top are from when I was searching for you,” Frank told her.

He was watching her closely when she looked up at him. “I figured Claire would start with the home they’d made together and looked for whatever records there were in that area. It was the best lead I had.”

Brianna put the papers back into a neat stack and thanked him. “I’m not very hungry. I think I’ll turn in early.” She took the papers with her to her bedroom.

Entering her bedroom for the first time in more than six months took Brianna’s breath away. Everything looked to be right where she’d left it, even the pile of school books on her desk with a homework assignment peeking out from between the pages. 

There were photos tacked to a cork board on the wall above. Brianna and her friends at a ceremony for Girl Scouts; Brianna at five in a nest of unwrapped Christmas gifts and crinkled wrapping paper; Brianna seated at the desk in Frank’s new office at Harvard with her feet up when he’d been promoted. 

She left Frank’s research on the desk and went to retrieve her things. The sack she’d carried everything in back through the stones was nestled in a corner of her suitcase with the spare clothes Frank had brought with him when he left Boston. She pulled out the comb and her grandmother’s pearls then the two letters she’d already read through enough times to memorize. 

Looking around for a place to put these new treasures, she wished she had a picture of the three of them together. The thought of even trying to sketch something from memory was too disheartening. She’d only have her own face and memory to go by for Jamie and even with a house full of pictures of Claire, Brianna would never be able to capture the sheer joy she’d found at Lallybroch. 

She settled the letters under the alarm clock next to her bed, easily within reach and the first thing she’d see upon waking. The comb she placed on her small vanity while she donned the pearls and slipped them under her shirt so she could feel them close without drawing attention to herself. 

Turning back to the pile of research, Brianna stared at it for a moment then carefully lifted it and moved to the bed. With one hand on the top and one on the bottom, she flipped it over so the bottom became the top, then climbed onto the bedspread sitting cross-legged and picked up the first page. 

There was less order to the papers than she had expected. A register of prisoners was sandwiched between some sort of deed and a marriage register. But when she scanned each page she eventually found mention of one or both of her parents. Claire had told her about those first few years before was forced to come back and Jamie had given her a brief account of his own time since Culloden. Brianna believed them—having passed through the stones herself, how could she not? But knowing it was the truth did nothing to lessen the thrill of confirmation each time she recognized their signatures or located their names. 

She gasped when she turned over a page and found Jamie’s likeness staring up at her. It was imperfect but distinct enough to recognize. Wanted as a person of interest in the disappearance of Mrs. Claire Randall, 1945. Frowning at the paper, she set it aside apart from the others. What would Frank’s explanation for that one be? The next was a companion flier, a reward for information concerning the whereabouts of Mrs. Claire Randall, last seen near Craigh na Dun while on holiday. Brianna placed them side-by-side on the bed. They both looked so young. 

Gathering the rest of the papers back into a pile, Brianna returned the unfinished stack to her desk, then set the two fliers on the small table next to her bed. She removed her pearls and set them there as well before turning off the light and climbing under the bedsheet. It would just take time to readjust. It hadn’t felt so strange in Scotland because she’d been looking for her messages from them but Frank was right. She couldn’t keep looking back.  _ She _ was the one who’d chosen to come back through the stones, to return to the life she’d left so abruptly. It would just take time and patience.

In the morning she would go to see Joe and deliver her mother’s letter and after that she would start reaching out to her friends from school. The prospect of answering their questions about her vanishing act was twisting her stomach into knots but they’d move on to something else before the fall term started in a few weeks. And that was another thing. She had her studies to catch up on and tests to take. If things ever became too much with her friends, she could use that as a distraction. 

The shade was drawn against the late-afternoon light but it remained enough to see by as she began to relax. She fell asleep looking at the black and white copied images of Jamie and Claire. 

Several hours later, Frank peered in to check on her. For the space of a heartbeat, he was afraid he would find the room empty, just as it had been each time he’d checked it for more than six months. 

It was a rare and blissfully cool summer night—the kind of weather that wouldn’t last long—and Brianna had pulled the sheet up to her chin. She hadn’t bothered to change into nightclothes and had left her hair in the braid she’d been wearing all day too. A significant chunk had come loose and rested across her cheek, tickling her nose so it scrunched reflexively at regular intervals.

Frank felt something inside him relax. It was like he had been struggling for air for so long, he’d forgotten the relief of taking a deep breath. She was home at last where she belonged. 


	40. She Had Her Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna brings Joe his letter from Claire and retrieves a box she left with him before their trip to Scotland.

Brianna took a deep breath as she stood on the front step staring at the Abernathys’ familiar door. The brass numbers on the front bore water spots from rain the week before, as did the knocker. She reached up to lift the heavy ring before remembering the doorbell. The bells that rang when she pushed the button could be heard through the house—she heard them from her place on the step. She also heard Gail call to Joe asking if he’d get the door. 

While she waited for him to come downstairs and cross to the entryway, Brianna was tempted to push the doorbell again, just to hear its sound again. Such a simple mechanism to trigger those bells—a button that completes an electric circuit when pressed… and yet not something that had existed two hundred years earlier. As with so many small conveniences she’d taken for granted before being forced to do without them, Brianna wondered just how old it actually was and what its development had been like. How many times had the inventors tried and failed before the chimes sounded correctly when the button was pressed?

“Bree?” Joe said with surprise when he opened the door. 

“Hi Dr. Abernathy,” she responded trying to hold her head high and not flush self-consciously as his smile overcame his shock. 

“I didn’t expect to ever see you again,” he admitted as he opened the door wider and ushered her inside. It was cooler indoors, probably because the shades were drawn against the summer sunlight (except in the kitchen where Brianna could hear Gail washing something at the sink). 

“She told me she left some stuff with you before we left.”

“She dropped it off without saying much and gave me an envelope to go with it,” he explained, leading Brianna into the den and offering her a seat. “Told me I’d know when to open it and what to do with it when I did. She’d taken some time off at the hospital for a holiday but less than a week later, your dad called to say she’d left. Caused quite a stir. The directors expressed their doubts and scrambled to decide what to do.” He shook his head and frowned at the memory. “Came home that day and opened that envelope to find your mama’s resignation letter and a note asking me to turn it in if I hadn’t heard from her by a certain day… so I did.”

“And… was that all she said in her note?”

“In words… It was like your mama though—even if she didn’t say there was more, you could it was there just tell by looking at her. Got a bit more of the story when your father showed up asking questions.”

“Daddy came here?”

“He wanted to know if I’d helped her leave him, if I’d known she was going to just up and go and take you with her. I told him if she’d asked, I would’ve helped her but otherwise it was between her and him.”

“Were you upset that she went without saying goodbye?”

Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I miss her—she was my best friend at the hospital and we’d been through a lot in med school too. It’s still strange not having her there every day. I wish wherever it was she took you that she’d have called and let me know what was going on… but I don’t blame her for what she did. I trust she had her reasons and if I know Lady Jane, they were damn good ones.”

“They were,” Brianna agreed. 

“Is she okay? If you were in town with her, I don’t expect you’d be here by yourself.” 

“She’s fine,” Brianna assured him. “She’s happy. And she uh…” she reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter sealed with wax and handed it to him. “She gave me this to give to you and asked I come in person.”

Joe squinted at her as he broke the seal then squinted at the handwriting before finally reaching to the table next to his chair for his reading glasses. 

Brianna sat awkwardly watching him read, the smile on his face broadening as he chuckled to himself and at one point whispered, “Lady Jane, Lady Jane.” His eyes shone when he folded the pages up and set the glasses back on the nearby table. 

“An 18th century highlander, huh?” Joe peered at Brianna.

She just nodded, unsure whether he truly believed or might be mocking the idea. 

“You know, I suspected Frank wasn’t your real daddy—not with that hair. Didn’t want to say anything though. Figured she’d tell me in her own time… and I suppose she has.” He rose slowly from the chair and tucked the letter into the back waistband of his pants. “Well… let’s go see what’s in that box she left.”

“You never opened it to see?”

“It wasn’t mine to open. She put your name on it.”

Brianna followed Joe up a flight of stairs and stood in the hallway while he reached up to the string that pulled down the panel to the attic. Unfolding the ladder took him a minute and he cursed under his breath but soon had made his way up to the dusty space. She heard him cough a few times.

“Stay down there, Bree,” Joe instructed. “I think you’re tall enough that if I bring it to the opening I can pass it down to you. It’s not too big or heavy.”

His shuffling made the ceiling above her head creak uncertainly and she caught another expletive following a dull thud.

“Are you okay?” she called up, a hand on the ladder. 

“Stubbed my toe but I’ve got it.” His shuffling resumed and soon he reappeared at the top of the ladder with the cardboard box tucked under his arm and the other hand braced on the low, slanted ceiling. 

Brianna blinked back the dust that flew into the air when Joe handed the box down. It was a little larger than a shoebox and heavier than it looked. Something inside shifted but there was also something muffling and cushioning the contents. She contemplated the box while Joe came back down slowly and folded the ladder. They returned downstairs to the den and Brianna set the box on the coffee table, getting down on the floor and carefully brushing off the dust. 

Her name was indeed inscribed on the lid with a permanent marker. 

Her hands shook as she opened the box. A musty smell hit her face as she took in the sight of a worn and faded plaid. There was only one clan the tartan could belong to. She lifted it out and felt something harder wrapped within the folds of her mother’s arisaid. Where had her mother kept it all those years? She couldn’t bring it back through the stones with them unless she wanted to be arrested, so Claire had entrusted it to her best friend on the chance someone would return for it someday. 

Brianna removed several notebooks from the folds and set them on the coffee table before bringing the plaid to her cheek. It was still soft, even after so long, and it smelled of more than just mothballs. Earth and sweat, grass and other plants. It smelled like her mother. 

Despite the heat of the summer day, Brianna wrapped herself in the plaid and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of her mother’s arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind; felt the way her father had tucked the blankets in around her when he had put her to bed, even though she’d been too old for that kind of thing. 

Leaving the notebooks for the moment, Brianna peered into the box to see it wasn’t entirely empty. She removed a familiar black leather case. 

Joe frowned as Brianna pulled Claire’s stethoscope from the case and handed it to him. 

“She brought most of her other medical things,” Brianna explained, absentmindedly grabbing one of the notebooks. “The scalpels are easier to explain and her syringes are easier to hide but that… There’s no using that without people asking questions. I know she misses it though.”

Joe was shaking his head as he turned the stethoscope over in his hands. “I can’t even imagine trying to do my job in a time like that,” he said quietly. “To know what you have to do and not be able to do it because you don’t have the proper tools at hand… like trying to work with your hands tied behind your back.” Brianna didn’t respond so Joe looked over to see her with her brow furrowed and one of the notebooks open. “What d’you have there?”

“She wrote about him,” Brianna murmured, turning back to the beginning. “ _ To _ him, rather. About me… about her work… about…  _ everything _ .” 

_ July 4, 1948 _

_ It is Independence Day here in America and I’m given to understand that there are few places that celebrate it as thoroughly as Boston does. It has been difficult these last few months, adjusting to a new place and trying to make it home. I’ve only ever known one true home, and it is lost to me forever. _

_ I’ve promised not to speak of it, and so I won’t, but as I cannot promise not to think of it—of you—I shall keep my thoughts here where they are and will stay mine alone. The need to do something is returning and it scares me. Forgetting you is impossible but right now the prospect of not thinking of you, no matter how briefly, feels like a betrayal too. And I know you’d say I’m being foolish, that I carry you with me always but especially now. I know that’s what you would say and find it doesn’t comfort me because you are not here to say it.  _

_ If I must start to do something again, I will have it be something that keeps you close. I miss talking to you, telling you about my day as we readied for bed. I’m dressed for bed now but will go to sit by the window shortly. One of the women on the street told me it’s possible to see the fireworks from this side of the street. She said they are always spectacular. I will watch and pretend that I’m standing at the windows of Versailles watching the king’s fireworks with you at my side. _

Brianna closed the notebook and looked at the first pages of the others. There were six in all, the dates of the first three comprising the earliest years of her childhood, the fourth her mother’s time in medical school, and the other two the remaining seven years. As work and other concerns filled her days, her mother wrote less but she still wrote nearly every day. 

“Thank you, Joe,” Brianna said, stacking the notebooks and tucking them under her arm. “For holding onto this for her—for me. And for believing everything. There aren’t a lot of people who would.”

“There aren’t many people I’d believe if they told me such a tale, but your mother…” He shook his head and smiled, pulling the letter she’d sent him from his pocket again and rubbing his thumb over the broken wax seal. “She’s one of the few truly honest people I’ve ever met. Might be she only got that way because anyone with eyes can tell when she lies. But I think it’s more that it doesn’t sit well with her. Learning this is like finding the missing piece of a puzzle. Could always tell there was something she couldn’t talk about itching to get out. Only wish she’d trusted me enough to talk about it before, face-to-face.”

“She trusted you more than anyone,” Brianna insisted, “even me. And apparently I didn’t know her well enough to see she was keeping anything from me.”

“Kids being blind to their parents’ true selves isn’t new. Learning to see us is part of growing up. We just hope you can still look us in the eye when you do,” he teased lightly. 

Brianna smiled but Joe recognized its hollowness. 

“If you ever need someone to talk to about… any of it, I’m used to listening,” he offered. “And it’s the least I can do for your mama.”

Brianna nodded and set the notebooks down so she could fold them back up in the plaid. It was too hot to wear it as she made her way back to her neighborhood. 

Joe followed her to the door and stood on the step as he watched her make her way up the sidewalk, waiting till he couldn’t see her anymore before closing it and making his way back to the den. Unsure what to do with the empty box, he put the stethoscope back inside and closed it, then sat down in the nearest armchair with a groan. 

He sighed and pulled out Claire’s letter. He meant what he’d told Brianna; he believed what Claire wrote was the truth. His mind was having difficulties wrapping itself around the idea, but he didn’t doubt it was the truth. 

Reading the letter again brought a sad smile to his face. He missed his friend. 

_ Joe, my dearest friend, _

_ I miss you terribly and I am so sorry that I did not bid you a proper farewell. You deserve so much better than that from me. You deserve the truth and with Bree’s decision to return to Frank in Boston, I can give it to you. Whether you believe me or not, I hope you will not think less of me for the choices I have made, though everything in our friendship leads me to hope you will instead be happy for me, for I am truly happy.  _

_ After the war, Frank and I went on holiday in Scotland. I went to explore a circle of standing stones atop what they call a fairy hill. I still don’t understand how it works except that when I touched the stone, I found myself in the past. A group of Scottish highlanders found me and took me into their custody. It was in that group I met a man called Jamie Fraser. Circumstances soon dictated that I marry for my protection and it was Jamie Fraser I married. For a time, I sought to return to the hill and hopefully to Frank but after my new marriage, that desire faded and vanished by the time I finally told Jamie the truth and he offered to take me back.  _

_ I loved him and chose to stay with him. He is Bree’s real father. We tried—and failed—to stop the Jacobite rising in 1745. I was pregnant with Brianna when the end came and Jamie bid me return to my time for her sake, convinced he would die in battle. Leaving him broke my heart but it was the right decision and all has come to some form of right, now. When I returned to Frank and told him my tale he didn’t believe me. I didn’t blame him then and I’m not sure I care to blame him anymore now though for a while I certainly blamed him a lot. You see, at some point he started to believe in my truth and searched for record of Jamie. I discovered his findings less than a year ago now. Jamie had survived after all and still lived.  _

_ I am ashamed of what I did and how I did it, and yet I still cannot regret it for all that. I decided to leave Frank and bring Brianna with me as I tried to pass through the stones to the past once more—and succeeded. I have Jamie again. Brianna knows the truth at last and I’ve seen the two people I love more than anything discover and know each other when I’d thought that an impossibility. And the future I have found here holds the promise of more impossibilities. It’s not long since I discovered I am pregnant again (and I can hear you laughing now as you remind me of our reproductive biology lessons from medical school and imitate Doctor Evans in that annoyingly accurate way).  _

_ It is news of this pregnancy that I fear has spurred Bree’s decision, the proverbial straw breaking her camel’s back. I fear too much has changed for her in too short a time and know that it is my doing. I have to let her go. It is the only way I can atone for the years of lies and the deception by which I brought her here. I must let her go and must grow used to living with the worry and not knowing as I lived those years with the belief that Jamie was lost to me forever.  _

_ But I will worry less knowing that whether you believe my tale or not, I can trust you to keep an eye on Bree and make sure she is all right. I feared she would not be able to pass through the stones the first time and so I left a box in your care. If my fears had been realized, I would have returned for it myself but now I wonder if a part of me hadn’t known that she would leave us like this. I have told her about the box and ask that you pass it along to her. _

_ And now I will tell you some of what I’m certain you must be beside yourself to know. You have probably guessed that Brianna greatly resembles Jamie. She has his hair, his height, his eyes, and a great deal of his temper too. He’s a good man though prone to injury (when we met he had dislocated one shoulder and a musket ball wound through the other). He is my happiness and my contentment, the source of my strength and confidence when my natural springs run low. I laugh and smile when he is near and sleep best when his arms are around me. Since finding him again, I feel I’ve shed more than just the last fifteen years. I am still able to practice medicine though it takes a different form and can be bloody frustrating without the proper tools and medicines. I’m nervous about this new child and starting at the beginning again at my age. I already miss Bree and we’ve not yet left to bring her to the stones.  _

_ Take care of her, Joe. She will have Frank, I’m sure, but I should like for her to have you too. You more than he will be able to offer her what advice I would give.  _

_ I’m afraid this will be the last you hear from me as there aren’t other reliable means to ensure you get my letters. I miss you, my friend, and think of you often as one of my favorite means for considering treatment is to ask myself what you would do. You haven’t let me down yet.  _

_ Your Lady Jane, _

_ Claire Fraser _


	41. Peace of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna and Frank finally air some concerns about how things have been going since Bree's reappearance and their return to Boston.

Brianna sat at the dining room table with her text books open before her, a notebook’s clean page waiting for notes and practice exercises, the pen poised in one hand, and Roger’s letter in the other. 

It had been waiting for her in the mailbox when she’d gotten back from seeing some friends—the first time she’d seen them in person since her return. The awkwardness of it all had left her feeling disoriented, disconnected, and out of control. She’d expected them to want to hear about why her mother had taken her and left Frank, about where she’d been, and about why she was back. She hadn’t been prepared to tell them so much of the truth and yet it was what she’d done. She told them about meeting her biological father and his family, about seeing how happy he made her mother, and about the new baby they were going to have together. It occurred to her afterwards that her friends were likely to bring the whole matter up again at regular intervals, that they would ask about her parents and the baby from time to time. Finding the letter and a second from Roger to Frank had helped to recenter herself and feel less powerless, even if the letter’s contents had been less satisfactory than she’d hoped. 

He hadn’t found any further sign of a message for her in the pages of the  _ Courant  _ but he had decided to start looking in other publications of the period hoping to find a new trail. It had been only a brief mention, lacking in details. Most of the letter had been lines in Gáidhlig for her to copy with the suggestion that she send him words or phrases she wanted him to translate for her and use as a starting point for explaining what he could of the grammar structures. 

She planned to respond with questions about his own instruction in the language in addition to inquiries about his adopted father and the research he was doing—both for her father and in school. She needed more information on how he was approaching the search but didn’t want him to wonder why she was asking him directly rather than consulting Frank. If she wasn’t subtle enough about it, Roger might mention it to Frank himself and she didn’t want him to suspect she wondered what he might be keeping from her; she would rather discover it herself through other means. 

Brianna heard the front door open and hastily tucked her letter from Roger under the cover of the open science textbook. She’d left the rest of the mail on the table near the door and she heard Frank’s keys as he put them in the bowl right beside the small stack of envelopes. He came into the room and stood in the doorway watching her as he used the letter opener to slice open the tops of each before reading.

“How was your day?” he asked. “Did you and the other girls have a good time catching up?” 

Brianna thought there was more than just polite curiosity in his voice but gave nothing away as she looked up at him from her studying.

“Yeah. We went to the Common for a while and watched some younger kids playing but it was hot so we left and got ice cream. They said the placement test shouldn’t be too bad and that I can borrow their notes if I need them,” Brianna recounted. “What about you? How was your day?”

Frank snorted. “My schedule this autumn will be an interesting one… I’ve been given classes in the early morning and then late in the afternoon… which means I’ll be there all day most days. I hope you don’t… mind an empty house when you come home from school… and I trust you’ll be responsible about it—no inviting friends over without consulting me… no leaving without letting me know where you’ll be… ahead of time, and all that.” 

His words were distracted as he talked around skimming through the bills and letters one at a time. Though she bristled at the implication that she was irresponsible or reckless—especially the comment about leaving without word—she held her tongue and instead watched him from the corner of her eye. He set the other mail down when he reached Roger’s letter and held that one with both hands as he read it. 

“What does Roger have to say?” she asked with forced nonchalance. 

“Hmm?” Frank blinked before turning to look at her.

“I said, ‘what does Roger have to say?’ I saw the letter when I grabbed the mail from the box,” she added. 

“Oh. He hasn’t found anything yet but—here,” he said crossing to the table where she was working. “You can read it for yourself.” He dropped the letter onto the open pages of her textbook and waited for her to pick them up.

Brianna let the pages sit there for a moment, not looking at Frank but feeling his eyes on her. Then she lifted them and scanned them quickly. Roger didn’t go into a whole lot more detail with Frank than he had with her, a fact that calmed the nervous thrumming in her veins. 

“Is everything all right, Bree?” Frank asked with an expectant edge to his voice. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she responded, setting the letter aside again and turning her attention back to the page. 

Frank picked the letter up again and glanced through it. Brianna snuck a peek at him and was struck by his frown. The lines of his face seemed deeper than usual. His shoulders drooped, too. She was pretty sure he wanted to say something but was also confident that he wouldn’t. He was still holding back from her, maybe not about the content of Roger’s letter, maybe not this time, but the inclination, the habit remained. 

“You’d tell me if he  _ did _ find something… right?” she asked, baiting.

Frank’s head shot up to look at her. She struggled to make sense of his expression and missed how her mother’s face always broadcast what she was thinking. Was it fear and suspicion in his eyes? Or hurt and disappointment?

“Of course I would tell you,” Frank insisted. “We’re looking for them for your peace of mind.”

Brianna nodded but wasn’t entirely convinced. Frank started to walk away but Brianna decided she couldn’t and shouldn’t let it go.

“I just don’t want there to be secrets between us,” she stated, hoping it didn’t sound accusatory. 

“Why would there be?” Frank echoed her. 

“I think I understand why you didn’t tell Mama when you started looking for Jamie… You were scared of what might happen if she knew the truth,” Brianna said carefully. “And… well, given what happened when she found out… your fears weren’t wrong. But you do know that I would never do that to you, right?” She peered up at him and met his eye. “I would never leave without talking to you about it first—and I’m not planning on going back. I  _ chose _ to come back here. I’m… where I want to be.”

Frank’s jaw twitched as he clenched it after licking his lips, weighing his next words with as much care as she had. 

“You aren’t  _ planning _ to go back… but that doesn’t mean that you won’t change your mind if we find something,” he pointed out. “What if you learned that something was going to happen to them? You’re saying you wouldn’t try to go back and warn them?”

It was Brianna’s turn to hesitate but Frank didn’t wait for her to respond. 

“It’s not my intention to keep anything from you now—I don’t want there to be secrets between us either—but it certainly feels like you’re keeping things from me,” he observed.

“Do you really want to hear me talk about Mama and Da? Because I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t think there’s any way to talk about them without that happening,” Brianna snapped back defensively. “And you’re the one who spent my entire life lying to me— _ and _ you made Mama promise to lie to me too. Then you lied to her, too. So forgive me if I’m not sure about telling you every thought I have. I… I don’t know how much I…  _ trust _ you anymore. I want to,” she was quick to add. “I want things to be how they were before but… I don’t think they can be.”

Frank’s face had frozen into a mask while Brianna gave in to the impulse to share everything, the habit of a lifetime finally overcoming the newer growth of suspicion and doubt. 

He cleared his throat and glanced over the letter from Roger one more time before responding. 

“You’re right. I don’t particularly want to hear about them. And I know you’re upset with me for keeping the truth from you all those years… but as you said, I was right to worry about what your mother would do with the information. I’m sorry about lying to you… but I don’t regret doing it. I know it was selfish to want to be your only father—that it  _ is _ selfish… and yet, I can’t help the way I feel. I was never supposed to share your mother with anyone but the children we hoped to have—with you—and yet she was torn from me and never really came back… I don’t want to go through that again with you. I’m  _ trying _ to do better,” he informed her in a voice that couldn’t conceal all the frustration and strain he felt. “But I feel you holding back and… at times you’re too much like your mother.” 

“So we both have to try better,” Brianna conceded. “We can’t just… pretend if there’s something bothering us. We  _ have _ to agree to talk about it. Things can’t be how they were before… but how they are now is up to us. If we don’t talk about things, it can only get worse.”

Frank nodded. “Do you think about them often, then? If you need to talk about them—your mother and… If you can’t talk to me about them and you need to, I’ll help you find someone.”

“I think… now that I’ve been to visit Joe… he’s someone I can talk to about everything,” Brianna told him.

“You told him the truth?”

“Mama did in the letter she wrote him. And…” she pulled the letter from Roger out from beneath her books. “I’ve been writing with Roger too. I want to keep up with my Gaelic lessons… but I wanted to be able to ask him about his searching too.”

Frank looked briefly as though he’d been slapped but he recovered fast. “And you should. Something he has to say might remind you of another avenue to search. As I said, we’re looking for them for your peace of mind.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She rose from her seat and crossed to slip her arms around his waist and rest her cheek against his chest. Frank’s arms tightened around her and for a long moment, that peace of mind descended on them both.

* * *

They let matters rest there for the night, each going out of their way to be positive and hopeful about what lay in the immediate future. Brianna’s exams were coming up and then the new term at school not long after that. Things would settle into a more familiar routine soon enough.

As Brianna bid him goodnight and Frank finished locking up the house so he could head to bed himself, he decided he would suggest they spend the next summer’s holidays in Scotland. They could meet and confer with Roger, then get their hands dirty with the search again. The promise of it with a date attached would help to ground Brianna in the present. She needed something to keep her focused forward, even if that thing was the lure of the past. 

Frank closed his bedroom door and sat on the bed while he removed his shoes. Bending that way made his back and neck hurt. He spent too much time hunched over at his desk each day, reading through student essays and grading exams during the school year, scouring books and copies of archived documents the rest of the time. 

Flopping backwards on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling and contemplated fetching the two letters and reading them again.

He’d refrained while they were in Scotland and had even held back while they worked their way towards equilibrium in Boston. There had been several times he’d come close to destroying them unread. What could they possibly have to say to him that he would want to read? Considering the letter Claire had left behind for him to find when she disappeared with Brianna, hers would be scathing and accusatory or worse, boastful and crafted to drive him further towards jealousy. Would she tell him about the pregnancy, that she hadn’t even been back a year and already she was getting a chance to truly start over? 

And then there was Jamie’s letter. Frank had spent more time than he cared to admit imagining what he would say to Jamie Fraser if the opportunity ever presented itself; the other man had almost certainly spent just as much time over the years composing confrontations of his own. Even when his thoughts began politely and cordially enough, they never ended in that vein.

And yet he hadn’t thrown the envelopes into the fire or torn them to shreds and thrown them in the garbage. He’d stuck them between the pages of a book and brought them to Boston. 

It had only been a few days since his curiosity won and he opened the first letter—the one from Claire. 

He was shocked by its brevity.

_ Frank, _

_ I hope for your sake and Bree’s that you have learned from your mistakes. It isn’t easy but in Bree’s case, I know I have.  _

_ Take care of her. _

_ Claire _

Honesty couldn’t be the only area where he’d made mistakes with Brianna but it was a place to start. And—damn Claire—she was right. It wasn’t easy. He was so comfortable with keeping things close to himself—guarding his findings from competitive colleagues, guarding his feelings from further hurt, guarding Brianna from learning a truth that would leave her forever conflicted. 

Frank sighed and pushed himself up from the bed to resumed the task of dressing for bed.

It was only a matter of time before Brianna wound up back at the stones of Craigh na Dun to travel back and learn what had happened to Claire and Jamie. Unless they could find something in the historical record and unless what they found was satisfying and reassuring. Neither option was likely. 

He would have to find some way to learn to live with it, to pray that Brianna’s stubborn streak and determination to find it would be stronger than whatever force might pull her back. 

His pajamas on, Frank was ready for bed. On the small table pushed against the wall beneath the light switch, the pair of letters stuck from the top of a book. The impulse to take it out and read it again wasn’t worth trying to conquer when the letter was so short.

_ Mr. Frank Randall, _

_ You will have heard of me as I have heard of you and I am sure it will have been with roiling Jealousy in your Gut. Communicating with you directly is not something I ever expected to have the Opportunity to do. There are many Things I would say to you with Time enough and Supplies enough but none of them matter more than Brianna. _

_ I entrusted her to your Care once before and now I must do it again. _

_ Please watch over and protect my Daughter, in so much as you are able. _

_ James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser _

Frank hadn’t expected to agree with Jamie Fraser on anything, least of all Brianna. And yet Frank couldn’t fault the central message. 

There had never been any question about what he would do for Brianna because there was no need. He would do anything for her, even search for the woman who’d betrayed him and the man she’d left him for not once, but twice. 

He slipped the letter back into place between the pages and crossed to the bed. 

He needed to keep his attention on Brianna, on keeping her happy enough to stay.  _ That _ would help to keep him grounded in the weeks and months ahead.


	42. A Pang of Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie spends time with William while Claire helps young Jamie's wife deliver their first child.

The water was cool in the basin, still chilled from sitting by the window. It wouldn’t be much longer before the warmth of spring days extended into the nights but till then, Jamie had to shave with cold water. As he worked the soap into a lather, Jamie peered into the glass, noting the sprinkling of pale whiskers among the stubble. Though Claire might flatter him and tell him they were blonde, he knew they were gray. So far there weren’t more than a handful among the hairs on top of his head, but it was only a matter of time before they too began to multiply. 

He smeared the soapy lather over his cheeks, covering red and gray alike and leaving a smooth white expanse behind. How many years were left before any beard he grew was precisely that color? 

There was a pinch from the hairs on his leg and he looked down. William was reaching up to the cuff of his breeks in hopes of finding something sturdy to help pull himself to his feet. Jamie said a silent prayer of thanks that the lad had crawled from his wee cot in the corner to him and not towards the hearth. It unnerved him and filled him with pride to realize how stealth came so naturally to his son. It would serve the lad well when he was old enough for Jamie to take him hunting but while he was still so little, Jamie constantly worried that no one would hear him getting into trouble until it was too late. 

The tiny fingers found their way into the fabric of Jamie’s breeks and William’s weight as he started to pull threatened to bring them down to Jamie’s ankles.

He laughed as he reached down and lifted William under his arms, groaning loudly and earning a giggle in return. 

“Ye want to watch me shave, is that it? Or do ye want to shave too?” He took a finger and swiped it across the bar of soap, gathering remnant suds and smearing a streak on each of William’s cheeks. 

William frowned and put a hand to the soapy mess on his face, wiping it away so he could see what it was. When he realized it was the same that Jamie had on his face, William broke into a broad grin to match his father’s. Claire was right, he had another tooth coming. That would make four—the two incisors on top and the front two on the bottom. The sight when he smiled made Claire laugh and call him Dracula. The story behind the nickname horrified Jamie at first but he couldn’t fault Claire the innocent joy she took from it.

“Are ye ready then, wee man?” Jamie sifted William in his arms so the baby could look into the mirror too. “Once ye have yer whiskers slathered and blind to what ye’re about, ye take yer razor…” He grabbed a scrap of paper from the table next to the basin and prayed it didn’t have anything too important written on it. “Ye must remember to always go with yer whiskers, no against or it’ll pull and yer face will itch,” he explained, staring into William’s rapt gaze. “Gentle and careful like this.” Jamie used the edge of the paper to scrape the lather off William’s cheeks. Setting the soggy paper aside, Jamie dipped a cloth in the basin and finished wiping William’s face, grinning and declaring, “All done. Smooth as a bairn’s bottom, just as it should be.” 

He kissed William’s cheek and carried him back to the low cot in the corner of the room to resettle him. 

“Now I need ye to play wi’ Sawny and yer blocks while I take care of my own whiskers,” Jamie continued conversationally. “If I keep too close an eye on you and not enough on my razor, I’m like to slit my throat and yer mam wouldna be pleased wi’ that. Well, not today at any rate,” he joked. William reached up and patted Jamie’s cheek to verify that yes, Jamie did still need to finish shaving but then put a finger into his mouth. 

The taste of the soap was unexpected and unpleasant. William spat and coughed to get rid of it, reaching to wipe it off his tongue only to succeed in spreading more of it from the rest of his hand. It wasn’t long before he was sobbing as well as drooling. Jamie managed to catch the lad’s hand before he used it to wipe at his eyes. 

Jamie lifted William from the cot again and pressed him to his shoulder. 

“No, I ken it doesna taste verra pleasant,” he commiserated as he bounced William back to the table with the basin. “Let’s take care of it now, aye?” Jamie found the wet cloth again and wiped William’s mouth and hand before dipping it in the water again and wiping the lather off his own cheeks. 

He could put up with the itch until Claire was there to keep William busy or maybe she’d shave him herself after the baby had been put to bed. He loved the way it felt to have Claire’s hands holding his head in place, the way she always checked how close the shave was by running the back of her hand over his face before cupping his jaw and tracing his lips with her thumb. He preferred testing it by rubbing his face along the inside of her thighs and seeing whether she giggled or shuddered and moaned. Yes, that was something he was more than happy to wait for, but it would have to wait at least until another day.

Claire had sent word that even if Joan’s bairn arrived during the day, she and Jenny would stay at least through the first night to help the new parents begin on a rested foot. “I also want to be sure I’m nearby should anything go amiss with Joan,” Claire had told him as she gathered a basket with her medical supplies the previous evening. “The first twenty-four hours after giving birth are vital and having someone there who can act immediately… I have to stay for that. But you’ll be fine with him,” she’d reassured him with a glance to where William lay sleeping. “If you need help, Mrs. Crook will tell you what to do.” 

So far, father and son had survived the night on their own but faced with the prospect of keeping William close and entertained, Jamie began praying for Joan’s safe delivery as much so Claire could come home as for the sake of the lass and the bairn. 

* * *

Jamie wiped the sweat from his brow and then peered over to the shade of the tree where his youngest niece and nephew were playing with William. Janet picked him up and put him back down in the shade every time he managed to crawl into the sun and Ian sought to distract him by bringing him bugs and rocks and sticks (which Janet successfully pulled out of William’s hands and mouth on more than one occasion).

Mrs. Crook and Kitty came out with baskets of food for their midday meal and an update.

“It’s a braw grandson ye have then,” the older woman told Ian as Jamie clapped him on the shoulder. “And Mistress Claire sends word that mother and bairn are resting well and appear to be in the best of health. She’ll be comin’ back first thing tomorrow morning and she’ll try to drag Mistress Jenny away wi’ her when she does but she’s no so confident about managing unless Master Ian is there to help.”

“Aye, send word I’ll be over this evening after I’ve had time to wash up,” Ian requested but Jamie stood shaking his head.

“Nah, man. Ye’ll head on back to the house now to wash and go. Yer son will be wanting ye there as much as Jenny,” Jamie insisted. 

“They’re callin’ him Matthew,” Kitty put in. 

“Matthew Murray,” Ian murmured, red in the face with pride. “Ye’re sure ye can finish her wi’out me?” he asked of Jamie.

“I’ll finish the row and then head back to the house myself. Willie will be needing his nap soon and I dinna think that’ll be easily managed as it is, let alone out here. I’ll go over the ledgers while he’s down.”

“I can take him back to the house now if ye like,” Mrs. Crook offered.

But Jamie shook his head. “Thank ye, but I’ll no be much longer.” 

Mrs. Crook nodded and after one final congratulatory pat for Ian, Jamie watched them head back toward the house while he went back to hilling the row of potatoes. 

It was certainly faster work when Ian and young Jamie were there working alongside him, but the solitude was comfortable and familiar—all the more comfortable for knowing it would end sooner rather than later and that it would be some time before he had such a stretch again. 

William squealed excitedly over something his cousins had done and Jamie looked up to watch. William was sitting up on his own and fervently clapping his hands, the short curls beginning to twist on his scalp just long enough to bounce. Ian was making faces as Janet threw out suggestions. It wouldn’t be long before young Jamie’s little one was part of that group, laughing and playing between chores about the farm. 

Jamie almost wanted to groan at the realization that his sister’s first grandchild was less than a year younger than his own son. They would grow up more like brothers. Would wee Matthew look up to William and follow him around as  _ he _ had done as a bairn? They’d be closer in age than Jamie and his brother had been… 

The pang of grief Jamie felt at the thought of his older brother was sharper and more bitter than usual, taking him by surprise. Part of what had drawn Jamie to Willie had been knowing how important he was, not just because Willie was his big brother, but because Willie was going to be laird some day—like Da. The way Da looked at him and pushed him. Jamie had been too young to understand at the time, but Brian Fraser had used him to demonstrate to Willie the responsibilities of caring and looking out for those under his protection. It fostered the bond between the brothers. 

It had taken a long time for Jamie to understand and then accept the weight of responsibility his brother bequeathed to him when he died. There were plenty of times it hadn’t felt right, balanced on his shoulders, like it hadn’t been left to him so much as he’d taken something that didn’t properly belong to him. To be honest, the only time he’d felt he was making both Willie and his father proud in his role had been that brief time before the Rising, when he and Claire had been Laird and Lady Broch Tuarach, running the estate and caring for the tenants with Jenny and Ian’s assistance. From the day Charles’ letter had arrived, Jamie felt like he was scrambling to keep whole what circumstance was fighting to irrevocably shatter… scrambling and failing. He’d lost Claire and the only way to protect Lallybroch had been to give away what he wasn’t sure had been his to give away. 

Watching William playing in the grass and under the tree… it was the first time in fifteen years that Jamie regretted having transferred ownership of Lallybroch to his nephew. He didn’t want it for his own sake, but for his son’s. And the thought, however brief, made him ashamed.

Small waves regret and shame continued to lap at the edges of Jamie’s mind for the rest of the day. 

William woke from his nap earlier than Jamie counted on so he gave the lad a quill to investigate while sitting in his lap and Jamie reconciled the ledgers. 

After determining that the feather wasn’t food and that flapping his hand and arm while holding it did nothing interesting, William watched Jamie dip his own quill in ink then mark the page. William threw the quill at the open book and clapped as it landed across the section Jamie was examining.

Jamie smiled and began to quietly narrate his process—what each column in the ledger accounted for and why it was important to the running of Lallybroch, then finally reconciling the figures themselves. William angled his head to stare up at Jamie, watching his father’s exaggerated expressions and mesmerized by the rhythm of his words. He smiled when Jamie smiled and laughed when Jamie chuckled. 

“Ye’re a model pupil,” Jamie complimented him when the books were balanced and the ink had dried. “It willna be so very long before ye’ll need a tutor what kens the proper way ye ought to be taught yer lessons. My da started me wi’ a tutor when I was still a wee lad—though, he likely didna push me to it as much as I wanted to start to be more like my older brother,” Jamie confided. 

“Da…” William echoed. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it and it lacked intrinsic understanding leaving it just another sound in William’s repertoire, but hearing it still made Jamie’s breath stutter and wetness prick his eyes. 

“Aye lad,” he murmured shifting William in his lap so he could bounce him on his knee without knocking the desk. “Tha’s me. I’m yer Da and I’m goin’ to teach ye all ye need to know to be a man—whether ye agree wi’ the lessons or no. Ye’ll see the value in them with time, as I did.”

“Da,” William said again turning away and catching his foot in his hand. “Da da da da  _ daaaa _ .”

Jamie kept hold of William around the middle when he reached to close the ledger book. It fell shut with the soft swish of the pages rubbing against each other. William looked up at the noise. 

It was a sound Jamie remembered clearly from his youth. He’d creep into the library and wait when he had questions or complaints requiring his father. Brian would always finish the page he was on and close the book so he could turn his full attention to Jamie. 

He’d done it a morning a few months after Willie’s death when he summoned Jamie to the library. The scratch of the quill, the rustling as he closed the lid on the ink pot, then the sound of paper sliding against paper as he replaced the blotting scrap that marked is place and closed the book. 

“Ye’re doing well with yer figures,” Brian had said. “Yer tutor says ye’ve a mind for it.”

“Yes, sir,” Jamie had nodded. He liked numbers just then. They held their shape and their meaning. Five was five. It couldn’t be anything else. You could make it bigger but then it wasn’t five, it was six or seven or more. You could make it smaller but then it wasn’t five either. The rules for making it one way or the other stayed the same, even if how much bigger and smaller changed. You started with one thing, you did something to it and you ended up with another thing; it didn’t matter how many times you looked at the equation, that specific combination of numbers and actions left you with one answer and it was the one you knew you were going to get.

Figures made sense. They weren’t like language, which had fascinated Jamie under his old tutor—the one who became sick and left them shortly before Willie got sick. 

There were rules with language but those rules didn’t mean much; they were broken all the time. And each language had its own rules. One word in Gáidhlig could have three different translations in English or French. How was anyone supposed to understand each other in that case? The same string of words in the same order could leave you with four or more translations, all of which were different and not necessarily what you expected when you started. 

“I want ye to go over the books with me now,” Brian had said, laying his hand on the cover of the volume he’d just shut. 

“ _ Right _ now?” Jamie asked. 

“Aye, and whenever I go through them to reconcile our accounts. Yer tutor can teach ye some of it, but he doesna ken the system I use for keeping track of the tenants’ rents—what they’ve paid and what they owe. Ye’ll need to learn it for the day you become laird.”

It had been the first time either of them had mentioned that particular consequence of Willie’s death. So many of his father’s lessons changed after that day. It was no longer enough for Brian to guide Jamie towards becoming a man; he had to teach him the extra steps, the extra considerations that lairds must account for when taking action or making a decision.

“I dinna ken I’ll be able to teach  _ you _ any way other than what I was taught,” Jamie murmured to William who had started banging his palms on the desk. “Better ye have what ye dinna need than be unprepared.” 

He wondered whether William would ever mourn the loss of what had never been.

* * *

Jamie struggled, trying to talk himself out of his low moods.

“The healthy birth of a bairn is always a thing to rejoice over,” he muttered as he readied William for bed. 

William blew raspberries and squealed in agreement, earning a smile from Jamie.

“Aye,” he grabbed William’s ankles, stopping his kicking long enough to change his clout. “Ye’re excited to have a new playmate closer to ye in age than poor young Ian. And I wouldna have ye any other way, sweet lad. I dinna want ye to treat wee Matthew as though he was to blame for bein’ the one who’ll inherit what ought to be yours.” 

Jamie sighed and lifted William off the bed and into his arms, tugging the baby’s shift down to cover William’s bare legs. 

“No, it’s not what ought to be yours as it was never meant to be mine, either,” Jamie scolded himself. “It ought to be yer Uncle Willie’s and ought to pass to a son of his. Callin’ ye for him doesna make up for that though I ken he wouldna have begrudged me becomin’ laird in his stead. And it is only the house and land passin’ down now, no the title.”

William pulled his fist from his mouth and pressed his sloppy palm against the side of Jamie’s face. He noticed the stubble that Jamie had skipped shaving that morning and began to poke and pick at the individual hairs. They were long enough for William to pinch between his fingers and despite the spittle lubricant, he managed a strong enough grip on them to cause Jamie to jump and yelp when they were pulled.

“Oh is it pinchin’ me ye are?” he asked, capturing William’s hand in his own. “Is it? And how do you like it?” He gently squeezed William’s leg behind the knee in a spot he knew his son was ticklish. A high giggle erupted from William. “So ye  _ do _ like it,” Jamie teased, walking to the cot in the corner and laying William down. “And what if I do it here?” He tickled the same spot on William’s other leg and received more giggling in response. “And here?” William hadn’t finished laughing from the spot on his ribs before Jamie had tickled his neck, side, under both arms and the soles of his bare feet. The giggling morphed into a breathless creaking as the baby laughed himself red with the game. 

When he paused to let William catch his breath, Jamie realized he was laughing too. 

There was a creaking near the door and he turned to see Claire watching them and smiling. 

William hadn’t noticed her and wanted to keep playing so he grabbed hold of Jamie’s hand and pulled it to tickle his ribs again, already chuckling in anticipation.

“Are you being a silly boy?” Claire asked.

Hearing her voice, William tried to sit up but only succeeded in lifting his legs into the air. “Mamamama,” he babbled repeating the motion but angling himself to the side so he started to roll.

Jamie caught him and raised him so he was standing on the shapeless mattress. William’s feet started pumping as he walked on air trying to reach Claire. 

She swooped down and claimed him from Jamie, lifting William into the air above her head before lowering him so she could blow raspberries on his belly. 

“I thought ye were stayin’ at young Jamie’s until tomorrow morning at least,” Jamie remarked, rising stiffly from where he’d been crouching on the floor beside William’s cot.

“If it had just been Jenny I would have, but  _ two _ new grandmothers was a bit more than I could handle,” Claire confessed, slipping into Jamie’s embrace. “Joan and the baby were doing fine and seeing that little one was making me miss this little one.” She bounced William in her arms but the resulting laugh turned into a yawn. “I suppose it is time for bed,” Claire yawned too. 

William rested his head against her shoulder while she laid hers against Jamie’s. They stood quietly wrapped in one another and gently swaying until William’s breathing shifted and deepened letting them know he’d fallen asleep. 

Claire tucked William in while Jamie shuffled about the room smooring the fire and turning down the bed before coming up behind Claire and helping her to undress. 

“How did the two of you make out while I was gone?” she fished, sighing and arching her back when he’d removed her stays. 

“Fair enough. The lad wouldna let me shave,” he remarked, rubbing a hand against his jaw. “Crawled right down from his wee cot there and took hold of my leg trying to help.”

Claire chuckled as she slipped between the sheets. “Brianna was an escape artist too. Knew exactly what she was doing. There was one night—she couldn’t have been more than a few months older than Willie is now—I put her to bed in her crib, turned out the light, and went to the toilet to brush my teeth and go to bed myself. I found her sitting on the floor of my bedroom smiling. She was so proud of herself for that one.”

Jamie smiled into her hair as he pulled her closer. 

“Is everything all right?” Claire asked, already half asleep as she patted his arm where he held her especially tight.

“Aye. So long as ye’re in my arms, all’s right with the world, Sassenach.” And he did feel better with her there. He had far more now with her and William in his life than he’d expected to have those first years after Culloden. There had been many lonely nights in the cave when he’d have traded Lallybroch for the chance to hold Claire once more, to see her with their bairn and be a part of their lives again. 

“You seem… troubled by something,” she murmured. 

“It’ll pass and if it doesna do that, it will at the very least keep a bit longer,” he whispered. 

She mumbled something reassuring and then turned in his arms to bury her nose in his chest as she settled into the sleep of the over exhausted. Jamie fought to stay awake a few minutes longer to be sure he’d accounted for all his blessings. 


	43. A Full House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birth of Young Jamie and Joan's son continues to have rippling effects on Claire and Jamie.

William squealed from the floor in the corner. Jamie had fashioned a pair of gates that could be latched together and fixed to the wall in Claire’s stillroom to keep the increasingly mobile William from getting into trouble while Claire worked with her tonics and remedies. 

“Is it right for him to be eating that?” Joan asked skeptically from her seat near the hearth where she nursed Matthew. She winced as she switched from one breast to the other and his powerful gums clamped down on her sensitive flesh. 

Claire looked over to William. A bit of green plant matter was in his fist and bits of leaf were stuck to his lips and incoming teeth. 

“It’s just a bit of mint from the garden,” Claire explained to Joan.

He had a small wooden bowl and a rather long but scrawny rock that his older cousin, Ian, had found for him to play with. Claire had given him a handful of the mint leaves so she could melt the beeswax and heat the oils she needed for the salve she was making Joan. William took the soggy fistful of half-chewed mint and put it back into the bowl before hitting it with the rock. 

Claire smiled. Ever since Jamie had referred to William’s toys as his own mortar and pestle, she couldn’t help but think of them that way herself—though, she remembered Brianna playing on the floor of the kitchen with pots, pans, and spoons and was fairly certain William was acting on an impulse native to all young children rather than from a desire to imitate his mother. When she’d said as much, Jamie shrugged and suggested it was only a matter of time. 

Matthew began to fuss in Joan’s arms and the poor new mother looked about to cry. Claire set the cooling mixture aside and walked over to take the baby and burp him while Joan readjusted her stays. She winced again as she gingerly tucked her breasts back in and pulled her laces tight again. 

“Will what ye’re givin’ me work on him too?” Joan asked, taking a deep, exhausted breath before pushing herself to her feet. 

“It depends on what’s troubling him,” Claire said, yielding the three-week-old baby to his mother before William saw and began to cry for attention. 

“He’s got some redness under his clout. I try to change him soon as I ken he’s wet himself but I cannae wash the dirty ones so fast as he goes through them,” Joan explained blinking back tears. 

“If he has a rash, the salve might irritate it more than help but…” Claire moved to the shelf along the wall behind her work table, searching for the bottle she needed. She grabbed it along with a smaller, empty bottle. She filled the empty bottle a third of the way with vinegar and then fetched the pitcher she kept full of boiled water and filled it the rest of the way. Stoppering it with an old cork, she showed it to Joan. “When you change his clout, put a bit of this on a clean cloth and wipe the red area with it gently. It should help clear up the rash but if it doesn’t get better, tell me and I’ll take a closer look to decide what else we might want to try.”

“Thank ye, Mistress.” 

“You have to start calling me Claire.”

“Auntie Claire,” Janet said as she came down the hall and into the storeroom with her basket full of more than just the lavender Claire had sent her to fetch. “There was a patch of feverfew the looked too good to leave.” 

“All right. Set it over there for later and grab the lavender oil on the board. You’re going to mix this up for Joan.”

“Me?” Janet balked. “But… I havena—”

“It’s time you learned. Take a few of the flowers from the fresh cut lavender and crush them a bit. We’ll use those too and it’ll give the salve some color.” 

Claire guided Janet through the steps of mixing the cooling beeswax, oil, and flowers then had her put the opaque results into a small and shallow tin. 

“It’ll soften with the heat from your hands,” Claire told Joan. “Use it sparingly at first to be sure that Matthew has no reaction to it—though if you smell like lavender, it might soothe him to sleep easier. As long as he isn’t bothered by it, you can apply it after he’s finished nursing to help with the chaffing.” 

“Thank ye,” Joan repeated, handing the squirming Matthew to Janet so she could tuck the tin and the bottle safely away in the small basket she’d carried with her when she walked over earlier in the day. “I’d best be goin’ back now. There’s a chance he’ll fall asleep on the way and if he doesna, at least there’s none but the birds to be bothered by his wailing.” 

“Nonsense,” Claire said, taking the basket from her and setting it safely on the sideboard. “You should stay to supper. You need to save your strength and have something to eat. Your Jamie will stop in with the others and we can catch him then to stay as well.”

Too tired to argue, Joan aceded and let her sister-in-law guide her back to the hall where she would have a more comfortable place to sit while Claire cleaned up the stillroom before grabbing William from his makeshift pen and heading to join them. 

Joan rested while Janet watched the boys and Claire helped Jenny and Mrs. Crook in the kitchen. Young Ian was sent with word that his oldest brother should return to the house for supper and the meal became an unofficial affair. 

“Ye’d think it had been some years since the pair of them had taken a meal at this table,” Jamie murmured to Claire as he helped push her chair in before taking the empty seat next to her. 

“It was my idea, if you must know,” Claire whispered back. “We had Jenny and Ian right here to help with Willie in those first weeks but I remember how difficult it was when Bree was born too. I hardly knew anyone in Boston and Frank was at work all day. There were days I would have given anything for a few minutes’ uninterrupted peace to just sleep.”

Jamie went quiet beside her and Claire wished she hadn’t said anything about Brianna or Frank. She let the growing conversation at the table sweep away the awkward moment. 

“Thank ye for insisting, Mis— _ Claire _ ,” Joan said after the meal was over and the young parents were preparing to leave. “I dinnae feel so… Thank ye,” she said again when more eloquent words failed. 

“Of course. And come back next week if the salve doesn’t work or if Matthew’s rash remains or gets worse,” Claire instructed. William was getting heavy in her arms as he relaxed toward sleep.

“Aye, come by as often as ye need,” Jenny pressed. “If I’d thought of it earlier, I’d have moved the children around so ye had a room to stay over here so ye wouldna need to walk back in the dark.”

“We’ll be fine, Mam,” Young Jamie insisted, reaching to take the basket from Joan so she only had the sleeping baby to carry. 

“Just so.” Jenny bent to kiss her grandson’s forehead before briefly embracing her son and daughter-in-law. 

It wasn’t long after they left that the other Murray children drifted to bed as well. Jenny settled to her mending and Jamie crossed to take William from Claire so she could resume work on William’s first pair of breeks. They were looser in the waist than she’d intended but since he would likely grow out of them in three months or less, she figured she would have time to master the proportions for his next pair. 

“Joan seemed better this evening,” Jenny remarked to no one in particular. “And Jamie was happy to have a meal here again. Tis a shame we hadna time to do something more.”

“A meal’s a meal,” Ian pointed out. “He’s never failed to appreciate that, be it here or at home.”

“It’s a shame they’re so far and cannae join us more often,” Jenny lamented. 

“Far?” Jamie scoffed. “They’re still living on estate land. They’re no even so far as Broch Mordha.”

“Aye, but wi’ the bairn and Jamie’s responsibilities here, it’s a strain to them both. It would be easier for all if they were back under this roof,” Jenny declared with growing conviction.

“And where would ye put them?” Jamie retorted, lowering his voice when William jerked in his sleep. “It’s no exactly as though there’s room to spare just now.”

“Not now, no,” Jenny agreed, her eyes never leaving the even string of stitches she was creating. “But after Maggie marries, Janet can take her place in the room with Kitty. That’ll free one room. And Ian can share as well—it’s no good for him to have that space all alone.”

“I think the lad would take issue wi’ being demoted back to the nursery,” Ian spoke up for his namesake asleep upstairs. 

“He’s still in the nursery, he just doesna care to think of it as such,” Jenny said with a laugh. 

“It’s time this one was put to bed proper.” Jamie rose abruptly but shook his head when Claire moved to put her sewing aside. “I’ll manage,” he told her quietly. “Dinna think I’ll be down again, though. Ye needna rush. I’ll wake when ye come in.” He took her hand and squeezed it then bent just enough for a quick kiss. William stirred sleepily in the space between them, his hold on Jamie’s shirt tightening reflexively as his weight shifted with the movement.

“I won’t be long,” she promised, nonetheless. 

Claire was vaguely aware of Jenny and Ian discussing their daughters’ marriage plans while she watched Jamie make his way up the stairs with William in his arms. 

“Ye ken Kitty and her man willna wait long after Maggie and Paul are wed. Whatever Maggie does, Kitty willna let herself fall far behind. I wager they’ll both be married before the year is out.”

“And what of them when they have children? Will ye be wanting them to stay wi’ their husbands and bairns so ye can help them too?” Ian teased. “Lallybroch isna big enough nor do I think it would be a good idea to have them all here together like that. They’ll want to make their own lives wi’out  _ you _ watching over their shoulders like ye did when they were bairns themselves.”

“I didna say otherwise, but Lallybroch is young Jamie’s and he’s too old for us to still be minding it for him.” 

Claire finished the hem on the left leg and held the breeks up for inspection. The two legs were near an inch different in length. She would need to pick one to redo the hem but the prospect was one she didn’t have the energy or patience for that night. Instead she folded them and set them back at the top of her workbasket. 

“Goodnight,” she said with a smile and nod to Jenny and Ian. 

Jenny beamed back, still revelling in an evening with her eldest son and grandson. Ian’s smile was more apologetic. 

The ache Claire felt for Brianna had grown more acute when she heard Jenny talking about her daughters getting married. She would never see Brianna married or hold her grandchildren the way Jenny had tonight. 

It wasn’t right to blame Jenny; she wasn’t  _ trying _ to be cruel or hurtful. She believed Brianna was staying with family friends in 18th century Boston. As far as she knew Brianna wrote to her parents regularly and eventually those letters would contain news of a husband and children if Brianna didn’t come home to Scotland first of her own accord. No, Jenny was just basking in the joy of seeing her children come into their adulthood and knowing she’d succeeded in raising them well. 

Claire slipped into her bedroom and quietly closed the door. William was sleeping soundly in the corner, his breath catching periodically and releasing with a weak but undeniable snore. 

Though Claire wouldn’t know the joy of seeing Brianna with a family of her own, she felt a wave of certainty that she would not only get to see and feel that with William someday, but she would enjoy it with Jamie beside her. Still, that thought alone was not enough to banish the gloom spreading through her limbs, threatening to settle in and weigh her down.

She began to undress in the dim light of the banked fire. Jamie was lying flat on his back, hands on his chest and his eyes closed but his body too tense to be truly asleep. The blankets covered him but couldn’t conceal the hard, straight lines of his body, the dancing shadows from the hearth throwing them into sharp relief. 

Something else began to spread through her limbs, burning away the gloom. She pulled her shift off over her head and slipped beneath the covers to curl into Jamie’s side. Her head on his shoulder, she lightly traced the outline of his arms and hands where they lay. He kept his eyes closed but one of the fingers of his left hand twitched. Claire inched closer, pressing her body against him and kissing his shoulder before lightly grazing the skin with her teeth. She could smell the hint of pine she used instead of lavender for the soap she made him and his hair was damp from washing up at the basin. 

Jamie inhaled sharply as Claire’s hand drifted lower and slipped beneath the hem of his shirt. His eyes remained closed but now it was an effort, his brow furrowed and eyes pinched shut. 

Claire tickled his shoulder with the tip of her nose as she stroked and caressed. 

When Jamie suddenly rolled her over, she squealed with surprise. He hovered above her, his knees pushing her legs open. She pulled at his shirt with over-eager hands but he was inside her before she could get it off him, her fingers clenching in the worn homespun as her thighs squeezed his hips. 

She clung to him as he moved. He was rougher and less careful than she anticipated, riding her hard but successfully driving coherent thought from her mind. She arched into him and moaned, which only egged him on. 

Afterward, she felt him shaking as he shifted to the side so he wouldn’t crush her. It was more than just the trembling of release. 

Claire reached for him and felt him start at her touch. 

“Jamie,” she breathed. 

“I’m fine, Sassenach,” he whispered, turning her away from him and wrapping her in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head and her arse nestled against him. 

“No, Jamie, you’re not,” she challenged gently. 

“I didna hurt ye, did I?” he asked with a twinge of fear in his voice. 

She shook her head and felt him sigh with relief at her back. 

“No, there’s something bothering you though. And it has been for some time, I think.”

“There isna anything worth bothering about.”

She tried to look back at him over her shoulder but her hair was in the way. Jamie reached up and tried to brush it out of her face. 

“That’s not the same thing. Tell me,” she urged. 

He sighed again but this time with resignation and relax as he conceded to sharing whatever burden he was carrying.

“I’m no even sure I can explain it,” he began. “And I cannae tell ye how…  _ ashamed _ … I thought I would enjoy it more.”

“Enjoy what?”

“It’s not Willie—there are’na words enough to tell what I feel for the lad and how grateful I am to have him here… But I didna think I should be so regretful… about Lallybroch. I feel that I’ve failed him. I was supposed to keep and protect it—”

“You did, Jamie,” Claire reminded him.

“But it was supposed to be for  _ him _ .” Jamie’s voice was barely audible and he clutched her to himself with an iron grip. “I dinna regret it for the tenants’ sakes or for Jenny and Ian—and I dinna bear them ill will over it… But I want it back to pass to Willie and yet I ken that if I did… If I asked, Jenny and Ian would find a way to be sure Young Jamie gave it back—I ken they would. But the thought of that leaves me feeling as shameful and disgusted as I do now takin’ Willie wi’ me and showing him what my father taught me, showin’ him and knowing he’ll never be laird after me.”

Claire turned and slipped her arms around Jamie’s waist. 

“You want something you can pass down to him,” she said. “Something you can share that he’ll still have after we’re gone.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, relieved that she understood. “Something like that.” Something that he couldn’t seem to find at Lallybroch anymore.


	44. Ploughing Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the plough breaks, Claire jumps at the opportunity for her and Jamie to go to Edinburgh for replacement parts and other supplies but news of the trip brings underlying tensions into the daylight.

Claire wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand as she grinned at a job finished. The farmhand was also relieved to see her work was done for it meant he no longer needed to be poked and pricked while she sutured the laceration on his leg. 

“I just want to disinfect it one more time—it will me more diluted this time, I promise,” she explained before he could object. She had already reached for the alcohol, cloth, and basin and had a salve and bandages waiting. “I want you to cleanse it once daily and then redress the wound with clean bandages. I’ll send some home with you. Wash your hands thoroughly before you take the old ones off. If you see discoloration or swelling or if you become feverish or feel ill, I want you to come to see me right away. Otherwise, I will see you in one week to remove them. Now, repeat that back to me.”

The young man winced but reiterated Claire’s instructions as she finished her ministrations and secured the bandage. 

“Excellent.” She helped him rise from the table and quickly rinsed her hands in the basin before handing him a basket with everything he would need to care for his injury until she saw him again. As she escorted him out of her stillroom and through the kitchen to the yard, she told herself to add a stop to his cottage to her list of rounds for three days hence. He’d been able to repeat her instructions but she wasn’t sure they would remain intact after the whisky he’d required before stitching had worn off.

“Ye’re through then?” Janet asked, coming over to Claire with William in her arms. He clapped excitedly and reached for her. Janet looked disappointed and tired as Claire took William from her, grateful she’d remembered to remove her apron so he wasn’t trying to gnaw on it’s blood-stained ties. “He didna go down for a nap as I’d hoped,” Janet said with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to watch. If the others weren’t visiting your sister-in-law and the baby this morning…” Claire tried to apologize but Janet shrugged. 

“If Jamie and Joan  _ do _ come to live in the main house when Maggie weds Paul, then Willie will have Matthew to play with and they’ll no require as much attention keeping them amused,” Janet reasoned hopefully. 

“It’ll be a while yet before they can be left to their own devices,” Claire tempered, catching William’s hand before he could reach his fingers up her nostrils. “Did you discover the fate of the plow? From what Mr. Muir said, it sounded like a piece might’ve broken.”

“Aye, that it did,” Jamie said from the doorway. He kicked his boots against the frame to knock off the caked mud. There were streaks of it on his hands and arms up to the elbows as well. Ian behind him was similarly spattered with earth and sweat. 

“Wash,” Claire instructed, “or heaven help you when Jenny sees the state you’ll make of her kitchen.”

Jamie disappeared to use the rain barrel in the yard first, leaving Ian bracing himself against the door. 

“Twas the beam snapped when he struck a stone. He sliced his leg catchin’ it on the broken end when he fell forward over it.”

“Lucky he didna impale himself,” Jamie said shaking water from himself like a dog emerging from a puddle. “And that the tension didna cause the beam to break in more’n the one place. If it had, he might’ve caught it like a canon blast in the face or chest.”

“I dinna think it would have been that bad, though it wouldna have been pleasant,” Ian disagreed, moving to take up Jamie’s place at the rain barrell. “And ye’d never ken the difference from the noise.”

“Is it something you can repair?” Claire asked, shifting William in her arms. His interest had shifted to Jamie as soon as he’d appeared and she was having a devil of a time keeping hold of him. Now the men had washed up, she set William down on the floor and watched as he crawled to Jamie who knelt to greet him when he successfully completed the crossing. 

He shook his head as he hoisted William up. “It bent the clevis where the hitches attach when is snapped. We dinna have what we’d need to fix that. There’s nothing to do but fetch a new one from Edinburgh.” 

“We’re overdue for a run out that way, anyhow,” Ian agreed. “I’ll speak wi’ Fergus and young Jamie about settin’ out in a few days when we’ve taken stock of what else we’ll need.”

“Jamie and I will go,” Claire spoke up, surprising herself as well as the others. “I should replenish my stores of what herbs can’t be found locally and that’s easiest done when I can see and evaluate them myself.”

“Are ye certain, Claire?” Jamie asked with a skeptical glance at Ian. His friend’s eyes were wide but fixed on Claire. “It’s maybe no the best time…”

“I think it’s the perfect time,” she declared. “But we can take the night to sleep on it. Who goes won’t matter as much as what we’ll need to fetch while they’re there and as Ian said, that might take a day or two to decide and arrange.”

“But what about Mr. Muir?” Janet spoke up. “If ye’ve stitched his arm, he’ll be needin’ ye to take them out again.”

“I think you’ll do fine removing them for him next week,” Claire grinned at Janet whose face lit up at the prospect. “I’ll go over how it’s done with you tomorrow.”

Ian was nodding next to Jamie. “I dinna see any reason why it shouldna be you that goes,” he mused, “but as ye say, see what ye’re thinking in the morning.”

* * *

“Why did ye tell Ian we’d go to Edinburgh when there’s others can make the trip?” Jamie asked later that night as they prepared for bed.

Claire glanced up from where she was changing William’s clout, bending down and blowing raspberries on his bare belly to make him laugh.

“We haven’t been further away from Lallybroch than Broch Mordha since last spring when we took Brianna to Craigh na Dun,” she pointed out. “I think some time away will do us all some good.”

“All? Ye canna mean ye want to take the bairn wi’ us?” He looked down at William who seemed to know he was being talked about. The baby turned to look upside down at his father and reached for him. Jamie bent his head down so William could grab hold of his nose, squealing when he succeeded. 

“Why shouldn’t we bring him with us?” Claire insisted. “We’ll need to take a wagon anyhow to carry everything back with us, so we won’t be moving too fast. Besides, he’s not weaned yet.” 

Jamie detached William’s fingers and turned him around on the bed so he could lift him more easily. “I wasna saying that it couldna be done,” he reminded Claire. “I was wondering why ye want to.” 

He held William to his shoulder and began to sway, rubbing William’s back and easing him toward sleep. William’s yawn became a burp and Jamie couldn’t help laughing quietly. William smiled but the swaying was doing its job and his eyelids and head were growing too heavy to for him to keep raised. 

Jamie met Claire’s eyes over William’s dark head. His hair had grown long enough to begin curling but it wasn’t clear yet whether they were the temporary curls so many babies were born with or if they were destined to be a permanent fixture on his crown. 

Jamie’s smile wavered when he saw the somber note in Claire’s eyes. “Everything you’ve said… everything you told me you’ve been feeling… Are you still feeling that way? About Lallybroch?”

He paused for a long moment before murmuring, “Aye. It stalks me and strikes when my guard is down.”

“And having your guard up necessitates thinking about it,” Claire observed. 

She walked over to where he stood with William. Since he had taken the baby, she had been able to remove her skirts and bodice, remove the pins from her hair and stood before him suggestively disheveled in only her stockings, shift, and stays. 

“The last thing I want is for you to feel that way about the home that’s meant so much to you,” Claire told him quietly. “I can’t help wondering if… perhaps being away from here for a short while will help you sort through those feelings and come to terms with them or…” She stopped with a sigh and reached up to run her fingers through William’s downy curls. His foot twitched against Jamie’s chest and then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“Or?”

“Or perhaps the only way to stop your feeling that way is for us to start again somewhere else.”

Jamie blinked and clenched his jaw but couldn’t react too strongly or he’d risk waking William. Claire seized the opportunity to elaborate.

“You want to build something you can pass on to him but you can’t do that here, not with the ghost of what should have been haunting you. There are too many ghosts here for both of us. I love Jenny and Ian, and it’s not their fault, but seeing them here with all their children… I miss Bree.” Her chin began to tremble and Jamie wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. She rested her temple against his other shoulder, nuzzling her forehead into the warmth of his neck and rubbing against the slight prickle of stubble along the line of his jaw. 

“I miss her too,” he whispered into her hair. “And I ken what ye mean about Jenny and Ian. It’s no a comfortable feeling to be both happy for them and envious of what they have that we canna.”

“You haven’t spoken with either of them about it? Even Ian?”

She felt Jamie shake his head. “I think he suspects but no, I havena voiced it to him. They shouldna feel guilty for being happy and to say that I’m… I dinna want to say it; I just want to feel right about bein’ here and leave them to their peace.”

“It’s just a holiday,” she reminded him. “We’ll be gone a few weeks at most and we’ll see how we feel then.”

“Fine. But ye’ll be the one to tell Jenny ye want to take Willie wi’ us. She’ll think ye’re mad and I dinna want to be the one to argue wi’ her about it.”

Claire snorted but then rolled her eyes and buried her face further into Jamie. He wasn’t wrong about what Jenny’s position would be or how obstinate she might become when faced with a prospect that so clearly contradicted what she would inevitably see as being ‘best’ for all involved. 

A chill passed through Claire as she realized how hypocritical it was for her to even think of judging Jenny on such terms. Hadn’t she and Jamie done the same when they decided to lie about where Claire had been for fifteen years, about where Brianna had truly gone? Was it really their place to decide what Jenny and Ian could or couldn’t handle?

“Come lass. Let’s put this wean down and then get to bed ourselves,” Jamie said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

Claire offered him an exhausted smile. She needed to wait until she wasn’t so exhausted before she could trust herself to think through the possible consequences of sharing the truth with Jenny and Ian. There were too many other things flying through her head with the trip to Edinburgh to plan.

* * *

Jenny stood wringing out one of Ian’s shirts and frowning at Claire. “There’s nae need for you and Jamie to undertake the trip,” Jenny insisted, soapy water trickling down her arms and soaking into her sleeves at the elbow. “Fergus is a fine barterer and so long as we send young Jamie or Michael wi’ him to help with the lifting, the two of ye can stay here. Yer Jamie’s been put out enough over the years and ye dinna want to be cartin’ the bairn all the way to Edinburgh and back.”

“Jenny, we volunteered to go,” Claire reminded her sister-in-law as she plunged one of Jamie’s shirts into the water. “ _ I _ volunteered for us to go. Neither of us has been away from Lallybroch in close to a year.”

“Aye, as it should be,” Jenny pressed. “Ye speak of goin’ away as though ye canna wait to be away.”

“Well, you know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Time away can be a good thing. A necessary thing.” Claire focused her energies on scrubbing at a grass stain Jamie managed to acquire near the elbow of the shirt. It didn’t appear to be fading despite her efforts with the soap. She let go of it and left it in the metal tub of warm water to soak longer and moved on to one of William’s shirts covered with food stains. 

Jenny scoffed. “It’s for the younger folk to be traipsing about all over the countryside.”

“Jenny,” Claire snapped with frustration, tossing William’s shirt back into the tub with a splash that left dirty water marks over her apron and soaking into the dress beneath. “I wasn’t asking your permission. I was letting you know what Jamie and I had decided. We  _ need _ some time away from Lallybroch… to clear our heads.”

“And why do they need clearin’?” Jenny asked, shaking out Ian’s shirt with a harsh shake. “We’re finally all here together as we should have been. Ye have yer bairn and he’s a braw, healthy lad. The English patrols have calmed and for the first time since the Rising, Lallybroch and our tenants are no in danger of starving or losing the roof over our heads or our men folk to English prisons.”

“We’ll only be gone for a few weeks,” Claire objected defensively. 

“Dinna lie, Claire. Ye’re going for a few weeks now but we both ken it’s just a matter of time before you and Jamie pick up and head off to Edinburgh or France again or somewhere else. What was it all for if the two of ye willna be stayin’ put at Lallybroch?”

Jenny turned her back on Claire to hang the shirt on the line. She forced the clothespin down so hard, it nearly split the wood the rest of the way up through the head. 

Claire sighed and dried her hands on her apron before walking up behind Jenny. She crossed her arms and hugged herself.

“Circumstances here aren’t how they were supposed to be. We can’t keep pretending they are. Jamie  _ isn’t _ the laird anymore and Lallybroch doesn’t belong to us the way it did before.”

Tension remained in Jenny’s shoulders as she took a step back to examine the way the shirt hung on the line.

“Ye ken we never—”

“I know,” Claire assured her. “Jamie knows. And  _ you _ know, he’d never take it back.”

“Stubborn fool,” Jenny muttered under her breath. 

Claire refrained from remarking on Jenny’s own streak of Fraser stubbornness and how it was pushing her to cling to a future that had been lost the day Jamie and Claire left to answer Bonnie Prince Charlie’s summons. 

“If ye are goin’ to leave… stay close,” Jenny said with a hitch in her voice as she turned and finally raised her eyes to meet Claire’s. “It feels as though we only just got the both of ye back. I put up with seven years of watching Jamie’s grief as he moved about here and no bein’ able to do a thing to ease that burden for him. I  _ had _ hoped I would get to see a bit more of his joy as a balance.”

“There will be  _ plenty _ more joy here at Lallybroch… with and without us.”

Jenny nodded but didn’t look convinced. She turned back to the laundry tub where she was rinsing the clothes and reached in for another shirt, this one belonging to her youngest son. 

“I’ll speak with Mrs. Crook about what we need for the house that ye might get in Edinburgh. Janet could do with a new everyday skirt and I’ve patched Ian’s breeks so many times ye’d think they were meant to bear spots.”


	45. Arriving in Edinburgh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire arrive in Edinburgh with William in tow.

William did as well as could be expected on the week-long journey from Lallybroch to Edinburgh. He spent less time sleeping and more time fussing than Claire and Jamie would have liked but they averted any major disasters and arrived at their destination with only a little more exhaustion than they expected.

Jamie took a room for them at a modest inn and went to the stables to see to the horses and their wagon while Claire took William up for a change and to rest.

Unimpressed with the change of surroundings, William promptly fell into a deep sleep allowing Claire to nestle him in the center of the bed with pillows on either side to prevent him rolling too far. She examined the room’s meager furnishings beginning with the small basin on the nightstand, gleefully washing away the dirt and dust from the road. Beneath the grime, her skin had gained some color from so much time in the open sun. She’d kept William well covered—part of what had caused so much of his fussing—but there was a bit of redness across her cheeks, nose, and forehead along with a smattering of freckles. A few lighter streaks had appeared in her hair with some bits of grass and heather tangled near the back where it had escaped William’s notice and therefore the reach of his inquisitive fingers. 

Claire pulled the pins from her hair and ruffled the cloud of curls from the roots, shaking loose anything she might have missed.

“Are ye doin’ that for my benefit?” Jamie asked, watching her with a satisfied smirk as he closed the door and quietly crossed to come up behind her.

Her fingers were working to dislodge a twig with aspirations of being a curler. “I feel like I came away with half the moor taking root in my hair,” she remarked.

Jamie gently took her wrists and lowered them from her hair, instead wrapping them across her torso alongside his own in an embrace. “Leave them a bit longer,” he requested quietly. “Ye look like ye’ve been given a crown by the wee folk.

Claire smiled and leaned back against him with a contented sigh. It surprised her how the tension had melted away the further they found themselves from Lallybroch. On the road with so much open sky and field around them, the feeling of freedom from scrutiny made sense. They had passed through villages and found a small inn or two for passing the night, but it was mostly just the three of them. They’d been free to talk without being forced to watch their words or finish a conversation at a more appropriate time.

When William fidgeted and fussed due to gas, Claire soothed him with stories she’d memorized ten years earlier reading them to Brianna—stories about tyrannical turtles and steadfast elephants that wouldn’t be written for two centuries and baffled and confused Jamie.

“A  _ doctor _ wrote them?” he had asked, skeptically.

“It’s only what he called himself,” Claire explained, rolling her eyes at William who smiled and tried to imitate the action. “He wasn’t a  _ physician _ , just a children’s book author.”

“I spoke wi’ the innkeeper,” Jamie murmured, pulling Claire’s attention back. “He’s given me a few names for suppliers that will have the plough part I need and the seed Ian wants.”

“Good,” Claire hummed, closing her eyes and letting the warmth of his breath sweep over her throat. He used his nose to nudge her hair out of his way. “I’ll take William with me tomorrow when I go to see Mr. Haugh. I might need you to meet me there when you’re through. Juggling William with all that will be a bit much.”

“He’s certainly made himself at ease here.” Jamie looked to the bed where William lay sprawled.

“There’s so much for him to see and hear,” Claire remarked. “I’m always amazed at how much he’ll just sit and watch. Bree was just the opposite at that age. She wanted everyone to be looking at her, not the other way round.”

“Well, just now I dinna ken that I want him watching us.” Jamie’s hands had released Claire’s wrists and were roaming the lines and curves of her bodice. Where she leaned into him, he pressed back and lightly ground against her.

“Hmmm… He’ll sleep for a while yet… and we can’t go for dinner without him,” Claire mused, her breathing becoming ragged.

“No, and we’ll no want to wake him sooner. He needs his rest.”

“We’ll need something quiet we can do to kill the time.”

Jamie purred in her ear. “I dinna ken about ‘quiet,’ but can think of a way we might build our appetites.”

* * *

Claire couldn’t stop smiling as she carried William through the streets of Edinburgh in the direction of the apothecary—assuming the shop she had in mind was still an apothecary shop.

William’s head turned in the direction of every new sound, every bright color, every new smell, and his eyes grew wider, wonder and curiosity shining. He turned to see her reactions a few times, cooing and waving his arm at an open shop door and the patrons chattering inside as though asking if she knew what was going on or could they investigate. 

She hugged William tighter to her as a large man carrying a sizeable, squealing pig draped across his shoulders came toward them with no intention of moving out of their way. They avoided the collision but Claire scrambled to keep hold of William as he twisted in her arms, reaching for the pig and grunting. 

“Here we are, wiggle bum,” Claire told him with relief when she spotted the familiar sign hanging over the door. It wasn’t enough for William to lift his head and look at the sign. He bent backward in her arms as they passed underneath it, forcing her to catch him to keep from dropping him. Claire chuckled with amusement and relief that the sensory assault of Edinburgh didn’t have the poor lad crying.

The young man behind the counter—not old Mr. Haugh, she noted—glanced briefly at Claire and gave a short nod to acknowledge her entrance but then went back to speaking with a customer seeking recommendations for her husband’s stomach ailments, skin affliction, and headache. 

“Ma de ta,” William babbled, pointing to the ceiling. 

Claire looked up to see drying herbs hanging in clusters from the rafters above.

“I see,” she cooed, taking hold of William’s reaching hand. “Just like I have mine at home. But we need to be quiet right now and wait our turn,” she finished in a whisper and brought their joined hands first to her lips, one finger extended to make the hush sign they’d been using with William whenever he started screeching, then to William’s. 

William blinked at her with enough understanding to quiet his outbursts, though he continued to bend and stretch in her arms in order to see every possible crevice of the shop.

Claire bounced William lightly at her hip as she circled the room examining the contents of the shelves. 

“I dinna ken what to recommend,” the young man behind the counter explained apologetically. “I’m sure I have what ye need somewhere here but I’ve no notion what it might be.”

“Ye dinna ken what ye have in yer own shop?” the exasperated woman asked. She couldn’t be much older than Claire—in fact, there was a good chance she was younger than Claire—and had reached that point of exhaustion where social niceties cease to matter. 

“I ken the inventory but I dinna have the knowledge of how ye might use it—not in the case ye’re describin’ anyhow.” There was a growing edge in his voice too, a strain he was struggling to keep under control. 

“Yer father always knew—”

“I am  _ not _ my father.” There was pain and disappointment in the assertion. “I dinna possess the whole of his knowledge, only his shop. I can give ye as much as ye want if ye can tell me what it is ye’re needing.”

“I’ve just been telling ye—”

“Perhaps,  _ I _ can be of assistance?” Claire interrupted apologetically. William reached for her mouth, grumbling quietly. “What are the symptoms?” She intercepted William’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

The woman turned on Claire, challenge infusing the hand she placed on her hip.

“He’s a rash he’ll no stop scratchin’ but he says it’s more than the burning of it causin’ his pain. His stomach’s a roiling mess and I cannae tell is it the headache causin’ the trouble or the other way round. I’ve tried peppermint but it isna helpin’ and young Mr. Haugh doesna have anything else to recommend,” she finished, turning back to the man at the counter like he’d personally betrayed her. 

The young man in question looked ready to throw the woman out of the shop, his face red with embarrassment, annoyance, and frustration. 

“The rash—can you describe it?” Claire asked, stepping closer.

The woman sighed. “Red and rough, I suppose.”

“Does it weep? Is it crusty? Where on his body is it located?” 

“It’s…” she gestured vaguely to her side and back. “And… crusty, I suppose. There’s patchiness to it.”

Claire frowned and glanced to the jars behind young Mr. Haugh as she puzzled the case. “I have an idea of what it might be, but I would need to see it myself to be sure.”

“Ye’re welcome to come so long as ye can tell me what to do about it when ye’re sure what it is. We canna afford for him to be missin’ work given what he’s already lost.”

Bored, William nuzzled into Claire’s neck and began sucking on his fingers. 

“I’m afraid I can’t come by just now,” Claire explained, adjusting William’s weight on her hip. If the patient in question suffered from what she suspected, she didn’t want to risk bringing William with her. “For his stomach, try to get him something with dairy in it—fresh milk or cheese… eggs should settle him nicely too. Once he’s kept something down, get him some willow-bark tea for the headache. And for the rash…” 

She began pointing to the oils and herbs behind Mr. Haugh who jumped to fetch them.

“Stop, please,” the woman objected. “I canna afford so much as ye’re sayin.’ If I can settle his stomach enough for him to work tomorrow, I’ll come back for the rest—if ye dinna mind makin’ me a list and instruction…”

Claire turned to Mr. Haugh. “Would you mind setting those items aside with my order, please?” She turned to the woman beside her. “I’ll mix it up myself and bring it to you later this afternoon. I can show you how best to apply it if you don’t mind giving me an address where I can find you.”

* * *

Jamie had finished making the arrangements for acquiring the new part for the plow and having it delivered to the stables where their wagon was stored. Claire was running late. Perhaps the apothecary she’d planned to visit wasn’t there anymore.

He stepped into a tavern and make a few quick inquiries about it, buying and downing a cup of ale to earn the gratitude and cooperation of the barkeep. It was still in business as far as that man knew so after paying for the drink, Jamie wandered off in the direction of the apothecary figuring he’d meet Claire on her way back to their inn. It was probably the difficulties of having William with her that were slowing her down. 

The smells that flowed through the streets were as foul as he remembered but it was a fact that made him smile and then laugh. The noise was different, though. There was none of the tension that had pervaded the city during the months it been held first by Charles Stuart’s forces, then by Cumberland’s. Instead of shielded whispers, the chatter in the streets ebbed and flowed with the need to be heard over everyone else. One shouted conversation in particular caught Jamie’s attention.

“Ye wanted the book, I brought ye the book!”

“I cannae have a printing made up from  _ this _ ! I wanted it in  _ English _ !”

“Then ye should ha’ specified. I would ha’ charged ye more. It’s none so easy to come by a copy in English anywhere.”

“Why do ye no think I wanted one?! I’d ha’  _ more copies _ printed in English and they would near sell themselves. Already have a printer’s agreed to terms for it.”

The two men were arguing in the doorway of a bookshop, the shop owner a step higher than the man he was berating. The man on the receiving end of the tirade was unaffected and cooly examining the state of his hands. 

“Just find someone as knows what it says and put it into English,” he suggested with a shrug.

“I dinna have the means to bring a translator into it!” the shop owner shouted, waving the book around with a force Jamie feared might be turned on the mistaken procurer. 

“Excuse me,” Jamie interrupted the exchange. “I couldna help overhearing… If ye dinna mind my asking, what book is it ye have there? I might be able to help take it off yer hands.”

The shop owner sighed, too distraught to take Jamie’s offer seriously. “It’s in French, sir. I dinna think—”

“ _ Quel livre est-ce? _ ” Jamie asked with an accent that had the other man’s jaw threatening to drop.

“Ye speak the French then do ye?” the other man remarked with a satisfied grin before turning to the shop owner. “There’s yer translator.”

Jamie laughed. “That’s no something I’ve ever tried beyond my tutor’s lessons,” he informed them.

“A tutor, eh? How much French would ye have then?” The shop owner narrowed his eyes at Jamie.

“Enough for  _ Université  _ and then some.” 

“And is French all ye ken?” the shop owner pressed.

Jamie swallowed his earlier laughter. “I’ve passable German, Latin, Greek, and Spanish atop my French, though I’ve no had occasion to use them so often.”

The eyes of both men went wide. “Are ye sure ye’re no a translator?” the procurer asked with a laugh. 

“Ye say ye’ve never done it before—”

Jamie stopped him there. “Nor do I intend to. There’s more to a good translation than just knowing the words and their rough order. There’s an artistry to it that I dinna think I possess.” 

“It could prove lucrative should you decide to try,” the shop owner told him seriously. “Ships come in regular from France. It wouldna be difficult to get French novels or others near as soon as they have them in London and to put a printing out just as fast—a great deal sooner for folks in these parts as can afford it than if they need wait for copies to reach them from London.”

“I’m just in Edinburgh for the week,” Jamie apologized. “I should like to buy that book from ye though, if ye have no need of it as it is.”

The shop owner looked at the book in his hands and then nodded, resigned. “Somethin’ for it’s better’n nothing.” He handed it to Jamie who glanced at the author’s name embossed on the spine—Rousseau. “I’ll work something else out wi’ my printer.”

“Best of luck to ye, sir,” Jamie said as he paid.

“Domhnall MacDunn,” the shop owner introduced himself.

“James Fraser,” Jamie nodded. 

Jamie continued in the direction of the apothecary, searching the people in the street for Claire and William but his thoughts kept drifting back to the book tucked under his arm. 

 


	46. A Decision Reached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their trip to Edinburgh draws closer to an end, Jamie and Claire have some decisions to make.

Despite the rain the following day, Claire insisted on going out again.

“I need to check on my patient,” she told Jamie as she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and tucked the basket on her arm under its folds as well. “I want to be sure they’ve implemented my recommendations for keeping it from spreading to the man’s children. If any of them contract it, it won’t take much for it to jump to other families.”

Jamie held William tightly in his arms, the lad gnawing on a spoon they’d saved from the breakfast of parritch supplied by the innkeeper. “This is why ye didna want to take Willie with ye yesterday when ye went back,” Jamie verified. “Why ye waited until I could watch him.”

“It is. And why I wouldn’t let you give him to me until I’d thoroughly washed. It’s unlikely I’d be able to transfer it so far from the source, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Not if it’s some kind of pox ye’re dealing with, no,” Jamie agreed. 

“It’s not often as deadly as small pox,” Claire explained, keeping her voice low as though afraid someone else might overhear and spread panic. “But for one as young as Willie, it can be quite dangerous all the same. I had the chicken pox when I was young—before my parents died, I believe—so I shouldn’t contract it again myself.” 

“D’ye mean to check on this man and his family every day until we leave Edinburgh?” Jamie hoped Claire didn’t think the question was resentful but everything she’d said had led him to worry. And there was also the fact that the part for the plow would be ready and needed at Lallybroch soon. He wanted to enjoy what time they had in Edinburgh  _ with _ Claire rather than the two of them scrambling around the city on separate errands. The relief of having gotten away from Lallybroch was beginning to be overshadowed by their fast-approaching return. 

“I don’t know,” Claire answered. “I suppose that depends on what I find today. You’ll be all right with him on your own?” Claire leaned in to take the spoon from William, forcing him to give his attention to her instead. He smiled broadly and reached for her.

“Aye, we’ll manage as we did yesterday,” Jamie promised with a smile. 

Claire took William in her arms for a hug and a kiss on his chubby cheek before passing him back to Jamie and returning William’s spoon. When he saw her moving for the door, William threw it down and started to whimper. 

“I’ll be fine, laddie,” Jamie crooned, bouncing William and moving to the window so he could peek through and watch Claire as she crossed the street and turned up the lane, the hood of her cloak pulled high against the drizzle. “Yer mam willna be gone long. Let’s play wi’ yer new ball.” 

Sitting on the floor with his feet braced against the wall, Jamie sat William on the floor in front of him and demonstrated rolling the sewn leather ball so it would hit the baseboard and possibly roll back. William didn’t have the strength to roll or throw it as far, so he would crawl forward to retrieve it then sit and rest in the triangle of space created by Jamie’s legs, chewing on the toy. Jamie didn’t want to think about what Claire might say if she saw their son picking the ball up off the floor and sticking it directly in his mouth… then again, it was something he undoubtedly did at home as well and there were at least as many dirty feet crossing the floors of Lallybroch as passed along the rooms of the inn. 

Eventually the crawling had the desired effect and William began to yawn and rest against Jamie’s thigh. 

“D’ye want a story then?” Jamie asked, bracing William while he shifted his legs back underneath him and rose to his feet. “Shall I refresh yer memory of where we left?” 

The French novel he’d bought the day before sat on the small round table in the corner along with a few painstakingly written pages of rough translation Jamie had talked himself into attempting while Claire had been gone the previous evening. He hadn’t said anything to Claire about the Domhnall MacDunn and his suggestion before she left to tend her newly-acquired patient, but he’d been working at it when she returned and read what he’d composed so far over his shoulder. 

“It will take some work to give it new life,” he’d said, sheepishly as she compared it to the printed page, “but I think I’ve the bones of it so far to start.”

“Bones with a fair bit of meat on them, if you ask me,” Claire had said, kissing his cheek and draping herself around him as she stood behind his chair watching. “Do you think this is something you could do from Lallybroch? Translate the books the shopkeeper wants and then send them back?”

“I doubt it,” Jamie shrugged. “There’s no the time to be working on it with the estate and the fields needing hands.”

Claire had just hummed and dropped the point but Jamie wondered how much more he might get through.

While William fought sleep, Jamie read the page at hand in French and then asked William about which words he would use to capture the feeling of the sentence in English. After William fell asleep, Jamie moved him to a space on the bed with plenty of pillows and other obstacles to prevent him rolling off, then Jamie began the arduous process of recapturing those translated words on the page against the protests of his awkward right hand.

Jamie needed to take frequent breaks while writing. He took up the leather ball William had been playing with earlier and squeezed it, his muscles remembering the exercises Claire had taught him long ago. 

Leaning back in the chair, Jamie watched William sleeping as he worked out the aches. It never got old, watching the lad sleep and drifting on the competing waves of pride, happiness, sorrow, and fear. There was so much of Claire in William, from the dark curls to the whisky hue of their shared eyes—though Claire insisted they were shaped more like Jamie’s than her own. And Jamie was beginning to see more of himself in his son, some expressions and especially the way he looked at Claire, the glare when William wanted to cuddle uninterrupted with Claire and someone else stole her attention. 

The weeks and months were passing too quickly. It wouldn’t be much longer before crawling turned to walking and William’s babbled syllables became words and sentences. Despite Jamie’s fears that the boisterous city would frighten William, he’d adapted to the cacophony and chaos quickly, enthralled by everything around him. 

With the ache in his hand easing, Jamie looked back to the translation on the table. He’d completed ten written pages in two days. It would take a long time to complete a draft at that pace but if it was possible to dictate it to a scribe… 

He immediately recognized the footsteps in the hallway as Claire’s and was up to open the door before she could pause to reach for the handle herself. He motioned for her to stay quiet as he ushered her inside. Shying away from touching him, Claire moved directly for the pitcher and basin, pulling a small bottle of her distilled alcohol from the basket over her arm and pouring it in as well. 

Only after she had thoroughly rinsed her hands and forearms did she pitch the dirty water out the window and cross to greet Jamie with a kiss. 

“How has your afternoon been thus far?” she whispered, removing her wet cloak and hanging it by the door. 

“Quiet… productive,” he said quietly back. “He’ll be ready to wake soon.”

“Will you read me what you have finished?” Claire requested. She leaned on the back of the chair to look at the pages. 

“Later tonight. And it will need goin’ over again when a first time through is finished,” Jamie hedged. “There are a few places I’m no sure I like the word I chose in English—I even put some in Gáidhlig because I kent better what I wanted to say that way.”

Claire smiled as she saw the nervous redness rising up the column of his neck so she didn’t press him. Instead, she moved closer and slipped her arms around his waist, leaning into his chest. 

“How was yer patient?”

“Better. And they did the washing I suggested and he’s being kept at a distance from the children. I  _ think _ it’s enough to keep it contained,” she explained. 

“Ye’ll have time to check in with them once more before we leave for Lallybroch.”

Claire sighed. “We need to go back but what will we tell Jenny and Ian when we do?”

Jamie pulled back to look down at her, his chin resting on his chest. 

“You want to stay here, too, don’t you?” She turned her head to look up at him. “There are even more people I can help here than at Lallybroch and you… I haven’t seen you set to work on something with this much joy since… perhaps since teaching Bree to hunt or to dance, but those don’t count. In terms of  _ work _ , not since we were at Lallybroch before the Rising.”

“I’ll no bother denying that the idea of being here instead of Lallybroch is… tempting—though even the puzzle of that bit of translating is like to lose a bit of its fun if it were to become real work. But there’s no guarantee it’s something I could make a living at and there’s Jenny and Ian to consider,” he mused. “Is it fair to leave them wi’ two fewer sets of hands contributing to the work of the estate?”

“Four fewer hands but three fewer mouths to feed,” Claire pointed out.

Jamie made a noise of agreement, willing to let her talk him into the larger idea. “What of William? He’ll no have wee Matthew or young Ian to play wi’as he grows. And there’s the matter of what we’re to do wi’ him when ye’re treating patients as willnae let ye bring him wi’ ye and I’m about whatever I should do, be it translating or something else.”

“I have a few possibilities in mind,” Claire grinned. “And Jenny at least won’t be entirely surprised. She seemed to know that if we came here on this errand, we would only return to Lallybroch until we could make permanent arrangements here.”

Jamie blinked but nodded, both understanding and consent. 

“Ma?” came William’s disoriented cry from the bed as he pushed up onto his hands and looked around at the strange room. 

Jamie swept him up in his arms and brought him to Claire. William’s cheeks were red where they had rested on the bedclothes as he slept and drooled. He blinked at Claire and reached for her.

“What do ye think, Willie?” Jamie asked, brushing back the sweaty curls. The moisture had caused them to tighten into even tighter ringlets. “Shall we make our home here in Edinburgh?”

William rested his head against Claire’s neck, still lethargic from sleep. He smiled at his father as he clung to his mother. 

Jamie moved to wrap them both in his arms, immediately feeling that wherever they were, so long as they were together, he would feel the same freeing sense of home. 


	47. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire return to Lallybroch where they make their final arrangements for relocating to Edinburgh.

“But  _ I _ want to go wi’ Uncle Jamie and Auntie Claire to Edinburgh!” young Ian stormed when he heard them approach his parents about bringing Janet with them. 

Janet kept her mouth shut but didn’t need to say anything for her younger brother to think she was rubbing it in. 

“Laddie, are ye sayin’ ye’d be willin’ to stay at home watching yer wee cousin all day? Cause I’ve yet to see ye take charge of him for more’n five minutes,” Jenny challenged the gangly nine-year-old. “Ye’re too young yet and ye’re needed more here.”

“And it isn’t as though ye’ll never be allowed to pay a visit or to see them again,” the elder Ian consoled. “Prove ye can be trusted and that ye’d no be more trouble than ye’re worth and perhaps ye’ll be invited to stay.”

Young Ian glared at his parents as if they had forbidden him going rather than the fact Jamie and Claire hadn’t asked for him that stood in his way. He shuffled out muttering about being left at home with naught but wee bairns for company. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie apologized as Jenny dropped into a chair with an exasperated sigh. “I didna ken the lad followed me in or I’d have waited.”

Jenny waved her hand dismissively. “He’d have found out soon enough as it is.”

“Ye’ll let me go wi’ them then?” Janet chirped hopefully.

“Is it something ye’re sure ye want to do?” Ian asked his youngest daughter. “It’ll be a strange city and ye’ll not have folk ye know about ye, save yer uncle and aunt.” 

“Aye,” she beamed. “I want to go wi’ them. If I dinna care for it after a time, I can always come home again and send Ian in my stead.” 

Ian and Jamie chuckled while Jenny rolled her eyes but smiled at her daughter with more than a little pride. 

“Ye can go wi’ them but ye’ll do as ye’re bid, aye?” Jenny said.

Janet bent to hug her mother and then rose to wrap her arms around her father. “Thank ye.”

Jenny cleared her throat and Janet spun to Jamie and Claire. “Thank you as well,” she added, hugging Claire and then taking William from her arms. “Ye’ll mind me, won’t ye Willie?” she cooed, bouncing him in her arms and while he laughed and babbled at her. “Let’s to the kitchen to see what Mrs. Crook has for ye.” 

When Janet had left, Jamie and Claire took seats opposite Jenny while Ian shifted to sit beside her massaging the muscle of his thigh. 

“You truly don’t mind letting her join us?” Claire asked, her attention focused on Jenny. “I know she’s a help to you in the house.”

“It’s the sort of chance I sometimes wish I’d had,” Jenny confessed, her cheeks going pink when Jamie turned a surprised expression her way. Ian merely worked at the straps holding his prosthetic in place, loosening them so he could extend his massage to the stump. “Ye think it was easy to see you go off to France for yer schooling and then again wi’ Ian to fight? I love Lallybroch and having the care of it fills my heart and my days, but do ye think there was never a time when I wanted to see what the world was like beyond Broch Mordha?” 

“Then you’ll need to come and visit us in Edinburgh as well, once we’ve settled,” Claire insisted. 

“Ye have a place sorted, then?” Ian asked, leaning back having soothed the ache and the itch in his leg. 

“We’ve a boarding house with rooms we can take for as long as we need to find something larger,” Jamie informed them. “The apothecary has already asked Claire to help him learn the shop since his father’s passing and I… I’ve a promise of some work, to start, and shouldna have difficulty finding more.”

“We won’t go until everything here is settled,” Claire promised. “You’ll need Jamie’s help with the planting, I’m sure, but we’ll be able to procure any seed and supplies you require here, keep you apprised of all the latest news…”

“And ye’ll be able to return for Maggie’s wedding?” Jenny asked.

“Aye, and for Hogmanay too,” Jamie assured her. 

“So long as ye’re no late enough to turn out the first foot.” Jenny grinned, her eyes soft and shining. 

“It seems there’s little left to plan,” Ian remarked. “All that’s left is the doing.” 

“I think Janet will have her trunk packed and ready before the day is over. I’m glad for her. I was never sure what to do wi’ her compared with Maggie and Kitty. Having yer Bree here, however long her visit, did her good and workin’ with you since Bree left for Boston keeps me from worryin’ so much,” Jenny mused. 

“We’ll take care of her,” Jamie asserted with a formality he addressed to Jenny. 

“I know ye will, brother.”

* * *

She’d reached the last page and had already invested in a new, blank volume while they’d been in Edinburgh but Claire wasn’t sure what she should do with the ledger she’d filled with thoughts and messages to Brianna.

_ We leave for Edinburgh again in just a few days’ time. Leaving Lallybroch behind will not be as painful as it was the last time. Too much has passed and changed since those days before Culloden. Your father and I wanted to raise our family here and build something we could pass on to you. We are both mindful of your absence from this place, though you were only here with us briefly. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the feeling of a place can change, simply because someone you shared it with has gone. Uncle Lamb and I were rarely there, but the flat in London was our base of operations when I was growing up. I wasn’t overly attached to it and didn’t really think of it as home but going back after Lamb was killed made it feel truly alien.  _

_ If any place has been Home, it was Lallybroch, but not since Jamie and I left in 1745. Even with you here, it wasn’t ours in the way it had been. That is what has finally driven us to this relocation more than anything. He has a need to create something he can pass on to your brother someday, so we will work to build that in Edinburgh. He will begin by putting his gift with languages to use, translating novels and essays for a printer there. He hopes to be given work in the printer’s shop as well, since writing anything is arduous for him with both his handedness and the permanent injury working against him. I will have your cousin Janet there to help me with Willie and I’m sure the sick and wounded of Edinburgh will also keep me plenty busy. Never so busy that I won’t still write to you, though I’m at a loss for how to let you know that if you’re looking for us the historical records of Lallybroch won’t yield much.  _

_ I pray that you’re well and that you aren’t so preoccupied with looking back that you fail to look forward once in a while. That’s how you wind up stumbling into a busy street or colliding with a light post. I’m sure it’s silly for me to worry about such things, but I can’t help it and I don’t know that I would want to stop if I could. I’ve just about run out of room for such worries in these pages but I will continue them in a fresh ledger when we arrive in Edinburgh.  _

“Ye need a place to keep it safe for two hundred years… that no one else will find between now and then… and it needs to be a place that Bree will think of when she goes looking…” Jamie mused when Claire brought the issue to him. 

“Somewhere here at Lallybroch, but where? Should I bury it or try to hide it in the walls or floors or something like that?”

“Nowhere in the house,” Jamie shook his head. “Too many folk about as might stumble upon it. I’d say the broch might do but that’s like to crumble or be rebuild ‘tween now and then.”

“If I hide it somewhere too obscure, there’s no way she’d know where to find it. She won’t be able to comb every inch of the estate looking for it.”

“What about my cave? It’s naught but a disused hideaway now and there are few as ken it’s there, let alone use it themselves, even hunting. I dinna expect anyone would stay there long enough to find all my places for hiding such things away, anyhow,” he informed her. 

“You’re sure she’ll know to look there? That she’ll even be able to find it again?” Claire worried.

“Aye, she’ll ken the way. I took her past it several times when she and I would go hunting. And we’ll find a way to leave her a clue somewhere she’s sure to find it like we did having Willie’s birth printed in that Edinburgh paper.”

Reassured, the next day Claire took the ledger and carefully wrapped it in oilcloth to protect it from whatever elements might find their way into the cave. Jamie went with her to stash the packet away and conceal its hiding spot within the cave’s familiar walls. Wedging the final stone into place, Jamie rose, reaching for the low ceiling to be sure he didn’t stand too quickly or too straight. 

“There’s perhaps room for a second such book, but no more’n that,” he told her. “We’ll need to find a place in Edinburgh where it’s safe to hide such a thing away for her. But we’ll have plenty of time to figure that one out.”

“It feels like leaving her a treasure hunt or a puzzle to figure out,” Claire said with an amused smile. “Or like hiding the Easter eggs around the house for her to find on Easter morning.”

“I hope she kent how to find them all before they started to smell. I ken some Greeks color eggs red at Easter but why would ye hide them?” Jamie asked baffled. 

“Because they’re fun to find, I suppose.”

“And did she find them all when ye hid them?” 

Claire smiled more broadly. “She did. At first she ran around from one to another snatching up whatever she saw right away, but eventually she would settle into a more methodical approach.”

Jamie nodded. “Then she’ll find it. Maybe not the first of yer wee books she’ll come across, but she’ll find it.”


	48. Summertime Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Brianna's sophomore year of high school draws to an end, her teacher and counselor have some ideas about what she might accomplish in the following year.

The questions ceased after the first few months. The whispers were quieter, though Brianna suspected they would never go away entirely. She did things with her friends again but that was mostly just to keep the adults from staring at her in  _ that _ way and whispering. Her friends could also sense that their group dynamic would never return to what it had been but they’d adjusted before when she’d disappeared so adjusting again wasn’t difficult. Most of the adults either couldn’t tell the difference or were too busy to wonder and care. 

She used her studies as an excuse to avoid socializing when she couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be who she’d been before, which was why she was confused when her father told her he’d had a call from one of her teachers at school.

“They want to have a talk about your work this year and they want you there too,” Frank had told her after he’d arrived home late from work one evening in May. He was in the middle of end-of-term exams with grades due in less than a fortnight. 

“My work? But I’ve been getting top marks all year,” Brianna protested. “I’m pretty sure I’m at the top of my class.”

“She didn’t say that it was a bad talk,” Frank mentioned, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table and watching as Brianna served the baked beans and hot dogs she’d made for their supper.

Brianna remained quiet as they ate, pondering what the summons could mean.

“I was impressed with your placement testing before the year started,” her teacher remarked after school the following week. Brianna and Frank sat in chairs on one side of a short conference room table in a small office reserved for everything from disciplinary meetings to whatever type of meeting they were in at that moment. Mrs. Hannaford looked relieved as she sat with the school counselor, Mrs. Henshaw. 

Brianna didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Henshaw. There had been no school counselor when she’d gone almost two years before. The position had been created and filled during the previous summer break to keep up with what the public schools in the area were doing. So far Mrs. Henshaw was simply nodding and offering reassurance to Mrs. Hannaford as she rambled.

“Having heard about the interruption in your education the year before, that it occurred so early in the school year and lasted so long, I had my doubts you would be able to catch up with the curriculum in time for this academic year. The dedication and effort you put in over last summer were extraordinary.”

“Thank you,” Brianna murmured when Mrs. Hannaford paused expectantly.

“And that you’ve carried them into your studies this year as well, shows an impressive level of maturity and capability,” Mrs. Henshaw finally spoke.

“I agree,” Frank said, “but… I fail to see why it was necessary for you to call a meeting to tell us this. I’ve seen her marks—”

“Brianna will be starting her junior year this fall,” Mrs. Hannaford interrupted gently, hinting that there was indeed a point. “We want to make sure that she is properly challenged academically. If she’s interested, Brianna can work on an accelerated course of study. She’ll be allowed to take some classes with the seniors.”

“Then… what will I do the year after that?” Brianna asked, frowning. 

“If you continue studying this summer the way you did last summer and take placement tests before the start of term in September—and if you place well enough—you might be able to take enough senior level classes to complete both your junior and senior years in one academic year,” Mrs. Henshaw explained. “You would need to do the work for both in terms of assignments to receive the necessary credits, but allowances can be made with testing standing in for various written assignments and projects.”

“And it would all only be if it’s what you and your father choose to do,” Mrs. Hannaford reinforced. “Mrs. Henshaw would be able to meet with you regularly to evaluate your progress and whether the situation is working. It would be an experiment of sorts, but we think Brianna is an ideal candidate to see if an accelerated study program along these lines could be sustainable. If Brianna succeeds—which I have  _ every _ confidence she will—then Mrs. Henshaw would also be able to help her apply to higher education facilities, find a job placement, if that was what interested her or pursue whatever other post-education path she might wish to try.”

Brianna and Frank looked briefly at one another then turned their attention back to Mrs. Hannaford and Mrs. Henshaw.

“When will you need Brianna’s answer?” Frank asked.

“At least one week before the end of the academic year. We’ll want to be sure she has some direction for any studies she pursues over the summer break in anticipation of an accelerated schedule and workload,” Mrs. Henshaw informed them. 

“Then you will have her answer within a few short weeks,” he said, rising from the chair. Brianna followed suit.

“Thank you,” Brianna murmured out of habit, still stunned by the opportunity that had been offered and how it stood to change the next few years for her should she accept it. 

The two women rose from their chairs and started to follow Brianna and Frank out of the room but the Randalls moved with greater swiftness and averted further discussion until they were out of the school and left to themselves.

“I’m proud of you, Bree,” Frank said when they were away from the building and headed toward his car near the back of the lot. “Whatever you decide to do, that they’re so confident in your capabilities is something to be proud of.”

“Do you think I should do it?” she asked, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling her belt. 

Frank buckled his as well but then tucked the shoulder strap behind him to ensure a freer range of motion. 

“It’s up to you,” he assured her. “It would be a lot of work and it would mean you wouldn’t matriculate with the rest of your friends from your class,” he pointed out as he looked over his shoulder and through the back window, carefully pulling out of the space. 

Brianna shrugged. “I don’t know what I’d do if I graduated so early.”

“Whatever you would do otherwise. Apply to university. You should qualify for free tuition if you attend where I work,” he reminded her. 

“What about you, Daddy?” she pressed. “I know you said it’s my decision, but which would you do if you were me?”

He hesitated a long while before answering, glancing over at her several times only to find her waiting stare directed his way too. 

“I… thought… we might get away for a while this summer,” he said carefully. “It wouldn’t mean you couldn’t work on studying as well.”

“Did you have anywhere specific in mind?” Brianna asked, tilting her head to the side and still watching him. 

“Italy, perhaps. Or France,” he mused.

“So,  _ not _ Scotland I take it.” Brianna’s response was flat, revealing no hint of hope or disappointment.

“I think we both could use a break from all of that, as well as from being here in Boston.” 

“What about work?”

“I can take the time away during the summer. One more year and I’ll be through with my term as the administrative head of the department. I don’t plan to put my name in the ring for another, so that will free me up to pursue other areas of interest, truly get back into my research and work on getting published again.” 

Brianna nodded, absorbing the information and at last turning her gaze away from him and out the window instead. 

“I think I’d like to go to France,” she said. “I’m guessing you’ve been before?”

“Your mother was stationed there during the war. Near the front, though. I remember being granted leave for a week and spending most of it en route to visit her outside of Paris. We couldn’t have spent more than a few hours together before I had to turn around and start the journey back.”

Brianna didn’t turn her head to look at him, instead shifting her gaze so she caught the vague reflection of him in the window. It was clearly a fond memory for him and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. But then his brow furrowed and he looked somewhere between confused and unsettled by the difference twenty years had wrought. 

She also didn’t voice the real reason she would like to see France. If he wanted a break from her stalled search for her parents and brother, he wouldn’t appreciate her choice of France stemming from the snatches of her mother’s stories about the time she’d spent in Paris with Jamie trying to prevent the Jacobite rising of ‘45. There was a slim chance her parents had returned to France after she left, but that her father was still in touch with his cousin Jared at that time felt like the only lead left for her to pursue. 

“I think I want to do it,” she said, at last breaking the silence that had fallen at the mention of his time during the war. “I want to try to graduate in one year instead of two.”

“You want to do both? Graduate early  _ and _ spend some time this summer in France?” he clarified.

She turned toward him again. “Yes,” she nodded. As you said, there isn’t anything that should prevent me from doing both.”

And if she had to spend some time studying for an intense academic year ahead, it would be easier for her to conceal her inquiries from him while they were in Paris. 

“Why don’t you spend some more time thinking about the options?” Frank advised. “You shouldn’t commit to anything like this without putting considerable thought into it first.”

Brianna agreed, but she knew from his hedging and earlier assurance it would be her choice that he knew what her final decision would be and was giving himself time to get used to the idea.


End file.
